


Pebble in the Water

by Read_write_playsoccer



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexuality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Platonic Relationships, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Read_write_playsoccer/pseuds/Read_write_playsoccer
Summary: Understanding she was not long for this world, Mary Hatford practices an unexpected bit of honesty with her son. Learning the whole truth behind why they fled Castle Evermore, Neil makes a different choice.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 55
Kudos: 210





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: this chapter contains cannon character death and a bit of gore (non descriptive). Please read at your own risk.

Neil risked a glance at his mother in the passenger seat while navigating down the exit ramp; the harsh street lamps did her battered visage no favors. Stark bruises stood out against hollowed cheeks still smeared with hastily wiped blood. There was no finesse to their departure from Seattle and his hands tightened reflexively around the steering wheel in remembrance of their narrow escape. Besides the occasional direction his mother remained tight lipped majority of the drive. Anytime he inquired about her injuries earned him a sharp rebuttal or tug to his hair. It was getting harder and harder to remain quiet though as he picked up on the increasingly labored breathing less than an arms breadth away.

Stopping only to top off the gas tank gained them roughly half a days distance when his mother spasmed hard enough to dislodge his grip on the steering wheel. He felt the whole vehicle vibrate as it swerved across the rumble strips lining the edge of the road. Rushing to regain control of the van he risked another glance at his mom. She was hunched over, arms curled protectively across her abdomen gasping for breath. He tried to catch her expression, but her long hair hid it from view.

“Mom?” he asked, tentatively reaching over to touch her shoulder. He startled as she slapped his hand away with more force than he thought her capable of in her current condition.

“I’m fine,” she replied forcefully. “Where are we?”

“A couple hours north of San Francisco I think,” rolling down the window of the old Ford Windstar to take a deep breath of tepid night air. “Smells strongly of salt, we’re likely close to the ocean. I saw a sign maybe five miles back referencing a scenic picnic point. Should we start searching for a suitable place to spend the night? We probably need to change cars soon too.”

The silence seemed to stretch for eons as Neil catalogued each of his mother’s carefully measured breaths. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the road again though in fear of more censure. Approaching the stoplights at the bottom of the exit ramp he waited for her instructions.

“Don’t stop,” she said, though it came out muffled between her legs. “There’s something we need to discuss first.”

Anxiety fell heavily upon his shoulders while waiting for the light to turn green. Pulling them back onto the highway it was a tense handful of minutes before his mother unfurled herself and began to speak. His hands clenched in anticipation of whatever came next.

“Abram,” she whispered.

Neil failed to hide his flinch at the use of his given name. It was a conditioned response after years on the run, upwards of twenty names between him and his true self.

“Yes,” he replied, tilting his head to let her know he was listening.

“I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you regarding the reason we ran,” she confessed somberly.

Neil furrowed his brows in confusion, “I don't understand."

“There are bigger monsters out there than your father,” she replied, latching onto his thigh hard enough to bruise. “Listen very carefully Abram. Your father, may he rot in hell, liked to pretend he was in charge. It was only later on in our marriage I discovered how far from the truth that really was. Nathan wore the mantle of 'The Butcher of Baltimore' only by the grace of another, more powerful family." 

“B-but that’s not possible,” Neil stuttered.

“Oh how I wish that were true," Mary let out a caustic chuckle. "Unfortunately for the rest of us, he was a kept man."

Neil mulled it over in his head recalling every interaction he'd had with his father over the years. There was a vague impression of formal dinner parties, of overhearing snippets of conversations in other languages, and of the memory of his father’s bowed head seen through a crack in the door. There was one phrase in particular his father said often which stuck out in his mind, 'Yes, My Lord'. 

“Who?”

“The Moriyamas,” she answered. “They are an immigrated yakuza group, Japanese mafia. The current head of the family brought the group to America a couple decades ago and set up an international trading company based out of New York. I don't know what they are all involved in and I don't want to know but what I do know is their real business is murder and Nathan is their main enforcer. He rules the East Coast only because they allow it.”

Neil took a second to formulate his next question. “If he works for them, what do they care about a wayward wife and child? We are nothing to them.”

Mary sighed, “Perhaps at one time, but now we are loose ends, an insult to their reputation. We know too much.”

An approaching car caused Neil to slow down and hold his breath waiting for them to pass. He didn’t speak again until their taillights disappeared over the next hill. “That day at Evermore, it wasn’t just a social visit was it?”

“No, it was a trial.”

“A trial for what?” he asked.

Mary tried to speak but broke into an unexpected, violent coughing fit. Neil scrambled to grab the bottle of water in the center console and unscrewed the cap placing it into his mother's shaking hands. She took a healthy gulp before answering.

“The Moriyamas aren’t like most crime families. They despise nepotism,” she explained. “They may allow their first born to inherit the empire, but their inner circle is hand picked by each head of the family. Kengo’s men will not report to Ichirou upon his death, or subsequent retirement from the business, unless his son also deems them worthy.”

“What about Riko?”

“He’s the second son," she answered, as if that was explanation enough. Witnessing his bafflement she clarified with barely contained distaste, "He will never be allowed to inherit anything. It is for that reason he was shipped off to his uncle shortly after birth. His only worth being how much money he could potentially make the family one day by playing that bastardized stick-ball game. It is also for that same purpose you were invited to play with them that day at Castle Evermore. Your father thought to prove his loyalty to the lord by offering you up as yet another source of revenue. If you showed promise at the sport, deserving as a future investment, you’d be allowed to live.”

“And if I failed?” Neil asked, with no small amount of trepidation.

Mary looked over at her son with haunted eyes, “Your father would be tasked to kill you.”

“And did I?”

“Did you what?”

Neil peeked at her out of the corner of his eye, “Pass?”

Before he could so much as blink Mary took her other hand and slapped the side of his head with enough force to rebound it off the window. The suddenness of it brought tears to his eyes.

“You stupid boy, all these years and you still haven’t learned to let go of your ridiculous obsession over that damn fool of a game!” she yelled. “We didn’t stay long enough to find out. That night after your father tore that poor man to pieces we fled before the test was concluded. I couldn’t risk it; couldn’t risk you.”

“You mean I could playing Exy right now with Kevin and Riko had you not kidnapped me like a thief in the night?”

“Ignorant fool!” she sunk her hand in deeper where it was still gripping his right thigh. “Have I taught you nothing?”

Neil grunted, unable to reply.

“Promise me.”

“What?” he managed to gasp out.

“Promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to survive - kill, run, I don’t care, just promise me,” she spat vehemently. “And for all that is holy stay away from that senseless sport.”

Unsure of what exactly he was promising Neil recognized there was no point in antagonizing his mother further. He gritted his teeth and ground out, “I promise."

The van fell silent after. Mary resumed her vigil staring out the window while Neil continued driving south along the coast. Sunrise was fast approaching before he hazarded speaking again.

“Mom, we need to stop,” he began. “I’m getting tired and we need to take a look at your injuries before they get infected.”

There was no answer from the seat next to him. Easing off the gas pedal he checked on his mom to see if she was sleeping. What he saw resulted in him slamming the breaks so hard the tires left skid marks in the rearview mirror. Neil's mother was facing slightly away from him, eyes wide open and unblinking. Her normally vibrant hair was dyed a mousy brown two names back and hung stringy over her slack face. Terrified of what he’d find if he touched her Neil hesitantly brought his fingers to her cheek.

Cold, freezing cold skin greeted his soft touch. He recoiled so strongly he knocked over the piss bottle used for when it was too dangerous to stop. The strong smell of urine quickly invaded his nostrils causing him to gag. Scrambling out of his seat he nearly ripped the safety belt from its confines and sprinted around the back of the van to the passenger door. He tore it open and let out an inhuman noise as his mother fell forward no longer supported by the frame.

“No, no…” Neil shook his head, “this can’t be happening. Mom, wake up! I need you. Please don’t do this. Wake up!”

With unsteady hands he reached out to feel her pulse point. Unwilling to believe the worst, he lost track of time as he stood there praying for smallest thrum of life beneath his fingertips. It wasn’t until a semi truck breezed by that he woke from his stupor. Numbly he leaned her back against the headrest and returned to his place behind the wheel.

Neil pulled away from the roadside driving aimlessly for another twenty minutes down the coast before he found what he was looking for. The old van bounced over the rough road until he spied the ocean in the distance. He drove up as close as he dared before putting the vehicle in park. With renewed purpose Neil clambered out of his seat. Approaching his mother he reached across her too still body to undo the safety latch, doing his best to breathe through his mouth in order to avoid the worst of the stench. He gently took her shoulders to drag her away from the upholstery when a loud squelching sound made him jump back in alarm. He barely managed to avoid throwing up all over himself as he heaved onto the hard packed sand.

“Bloody hell mom, how far back did you know you bleeding out?” he said aloud, feeling the anger build inside of him. “Could I have saved you if you'd let me?”

Reaching into the vehicle Neil attempted to remove her again, except this time his nails came away dripping with loose skin and fabric. Neil lost the battle with this stomach once more and vomited on the ground next to his mother’s rapidly deteriorating body. Looking up at her from his place on the ground made her appear larger than life. She somehow managed to loom over him even in death. Giving up the struggle he made a snap decision.

Neil took a moment to gather the valuables from the glove box and stuffed them into his battered duffle bag. Setting his meager belongings a safe distance away from the car he began to douse the interior with their emergency gas rations. The ethanol burned his nose, but he pulled his shirt up over his face and continued to work with a single minded focus. It would be full morning soon and he needed to avoid detection.

With trembling hands he slid the small box of matches from his front pocket. It took him several tries, but he finally got one lit. Unable to look at his mother for a second longer he tossed the match through the window. In minutes the van was churning thick black smoke into the sky sending with it the acrid smell of burning flesh and metal.

Neil started to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t even know if his mom wanted to be cremated and he found it amusing the more he thought about it. Neil was unsure how long he sat there feeling the lick of flames at his back and the ocean breeze at his front. The the sun was high in the sky by time he felt it safe enough to retrieve his mother’s remains from the confines of the vehicle. Emptying the spare backpack he hastily filled the large compartment with ashes from the passenger’s side until he was satisfied with the amount.

One final look at the wreckage was all he allowed himself before ambling his way towards the ocean; duffle strapped tightly across his chest and the backpack dangling from his fingertips. He walked in a sort of fugue letting his thoughts wander this way and that never lingering too long on any one topic. Before he knew it night had fallen once more. Stumbling to his knees, his hands tore into the corse sand until they bled. Deeming the hole deep enough he dropped the backpack full of his mother’s remains to the bottom and reverently piled the sand on top. Never one for goodbyes or declarations of love, Neil did the only thing could, kept moving.

Unwilling to suffer the cloying smell of death any longer he rifled through his duffle bag until he grasped the partial bar of soap. Making his way to the shoreline he ignored the biting temperature of the water and began the painstaking process of cleaning every inch of exposed skin. With a wariness that had no right to cling to a teenager, he struggled into a fresh set of clothes. As he walked away from his mother’s final resting place he felt the last shackle fall away leaving him with an unexpected lightness. Taking a deep breath of air rich with salt and sea, Neil let the uncertainty of what lay ahead wash away and concentrated on taking his next step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, congrats! I've absolutely fallen in love with this cast of characters I just had to write my own spin off. It always pissed me off that his mom never told him the whole truth of why they had to live like that. This story explores what, if anything would be changed by her honesty. The first couple of chapters will rapidly show you where I'm going with this, but hopefully there will be some surprises along the way. If the love keeps coming in the form of kudos and comments I plan to rewrite the whole series. So if you are enjoying the story please let me know.


	2. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil copes with the loss of his mother and does his best to start again.

In the weeks immediately following his Mother’s death, time took on a unique quality for Neil. It wasn’t measured in minutes, hours, or even days, but existed as the ebb and flow of his emotions. At first it was a sort of numbness, promptly followed by an exhaustion so deep his bones ached. Then came apathy, like looking through a store front window; somehow occupying the same plane of existence while remaining separate, uncaring til finally the glass shattered.

Insides scraped raw the teen did his best to pick up the pieces. Hurting and cast adrift he struggled to find new purpose. He fell back on all the tenets his mother drilled into him: don't look back, don't slow down, don't trust anyone. Neil was beginning to understand surviving was not the same as living. Prior to that fateful day at Castle Evermore he recalled a vague feeling of want and the more distance he put between himself and that scorched beach in California he felt the gap close between Neil and Nathaniel. 

With renewed vigor, Neil used the skills long honed from years on the run to continue fleeing south. Taking advantage of the kindness of strangers and cheap public transit he prayed it would be enough to slow down anyone in pursuit. Along the way Neil collected what he could access of the caches his mother sequestered away for safe keeping across the country.

Neil maintained this meticulous process for several weeks until he felt comfortable enough to risk acquiring a vehicle. His search led him to one of those generic truck stops with the 24/7 diners attached. A semi driver he hitched a lift with awhile back had mentioned it in passing. This particular gas station also served as a park and ride location for buses transporting people to and from the surrounding Los Angeles airports, meaning cars were often left there for extended periods. This provided an added level of assurance the car wouldn’t be reported lost or stolen for at least a couple days, perhaps a week if he got lucky .

Neil wasted no time in casing the place for a vehicle suiting his needs. He settled on a beat up Toyota Camry with Nevada plates. Pulling out his mother’s set of lock picks he quickly got to work on the handle. After hearing the tell tale pop of the door jam releasing Neil slid inside and snapped off the plastic covering the transmission. In a matter of minutes he had the engine started and was flying down back county roads following signs for Phoenix.

Shortly before reaching Tuscan Neil stopped at the first town with a decent sized public library. He parked the car a few blocks away and stepped out into the Arizona heat. Not wanting to appear too out of place in his hoodie Neil surreptitiously switched out of jeans and into a pair of loose fitting basketball shorts. Though his legs weren’t unmarred the scars were less likely to cause uncomfortable questions, unlike the ones littering his arms and torso.

At his entrance, a plump elderly lady paused in her typing behind the welcome desk and gave Neil a casual perusal.

“Hello young man, how can I help you today?” she asked.

Neil advanced towards the counter and scuffed his threadbare shoes in a fabricated show of nervousness.

“Hi ma’am, I've got a good bit of summer homework needing done before the new school year starts, but my old fashioned uncle is woefully missing a key component," Neil paused for dramatic effect and then leaned forward as if to share a secret, "the internet."

Letting out a girlish giggle she adjusted her blouse and then graced him with a motherly smile, “Of course, right this way.”

Neil dutifully trailed behind her as she tried recruiting him to volunteer at an upcoming church BBQ. A short jaunt between shelves found them in a secluded corner near the back of the library with a handful of computers which would've looked more at home in a museum. Something must’ve slipped past his mask for she felt the need to reassure him.

“Oh I know they aren’t much to look at,” she waved a hand to encompass them, ”but they're reliable.”

Neil gave her what he hoped was an indulgent quirk of his lips, “Not to worry ma’am it’s mainly for research purposes, I’m sure it’ll suffice.”

Neil did his best not to flinch when she reached out to ruffle his fringe. “Well, I say, aren’t you just the most polite young man? I’ll be up front if you need me.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Neil ducked his head to camouflage his annoyed expression at her unwanted touch.

He waited until he could hear the click clacking of her nails on the keyboard again before he powered on the behemoth of a machine.

The first thing Neil did was run a search on his and his mother’s names. Finding nothing of interest he then pulled out the worn binder from his duffle. Flipping to the correct page he used his mother’s real birthday to decode the location of her nearest emergency contact. It was fortunate one turned out to be not too far from his current whereabouts. Finished with his initial tasks, Neil began researching schools in the area sporting an Exy team.

Naturally the larger cities fared better, but he wasn’t looking for that kind of exposure. What he needed was a quiet town where he could hone his rusty skills without fear of discovery until he was ready. By pure happenstance his eyes were caught not by something on the internet, but a local newspaper. Someone had abandoned an old issue outside the periodicals section of the library. Had it not been for the large picture of a young girl grinning next to her oversized goalie racquet he might never have paused. As it was, the title grabbed and held his attention.

**_“Local Exy Team Smashes their way to Sectionals”_ **   
**_Written By: Sarah Glynn_ **   
**_Photo Credit: Phillip Marks_ **

**_Millport High’s Exy team of only seven years takes a hard fought win against bitter rivals, the Jefferson Bulldogs, earning them their first ever ticket to sectionals in the history of the program. Coach Hernandez (age 47) comments, “I’m so happy for the players, they’ve worked really hard for it. Hopefully this is just the start and can inspire many more kids to take an interest [in the sport].”_ **

Neil didn’t bother reading the rest, but reopened the search engine typing in Millport. A small town of roughly 900 people, located halfway between Tucson and Phoenix; their biggest claim to fame was a debatably successful Exy team and an infinite number of bingo tournaments. He pulled up listings for houses in the area confirming his suspicions. His conclusion, Millport was a dying town where the residents fed off gossip, loved any excuse to throw a fundraiser, and had an abundance of yard sales.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered.

The next few weeks flew by as Neil went through the laborious process of starting over. He obtained the necessary documents from his mother’s contact: school transcripts, a forged clean bill of health complete with immunizations, enrollment forms with fake parent signatures, and an updated driver’s license for the state of Arizona displaying his new look.

Neil studied his face in the mirror and was pleased with the result; he was entirely unremarkable. His father’s signature blue eyes were diluted with dull brown contacts and the distinct auburn hair was now hidden under nondescript black dye. A bit of a pain to maintain, but a necessary evil if he ever hoped to fly under the radar for any length of time. Looking down at the photo ID he let out a small chuckle.

“At least I'm 18 this time around,” Neil mused.

He returned sporadically to the library maintaining his charade of staying with an uncle in the area. Using the remaining summer break, Neil kept a weather eye out for any news on his mother’s death and to confirm Nathan was still safely behind bars dispelling some of his lingering fear. On his final visit to his Mother’s contact Neil took advantage of the massive city to ditch the stolen vehicle and pick up a gently used Exy racquet. Before he knew it, Neil's new life had officially begun.

Enrollment was awkward, lacking the physical presence of actual parents, but the secretary accepted his lies without comment. An absent mother who travelled a lot and a hardworking father so obsessed with his job he was rarely home. She didn’t need to know absent equated to dead and his father’s true obsession concerned finding his missing family to torture and most likely kill. With a wry smile, Neil decided it could technically be considered work related.

Lies and truth all wrapped up in a nice, neat package topped with a bow. It was an art form he learned the hard way; spinning a tale with the right amount of neglect people could sympathize with, but not worrying enough to interfere.

Neil laughed as a memory came unbidden about the first time a member of their household staff caught a glimpse of his bare torso. The horror on their face quickly turned to amusement as his father weaved yet another manufactured story of poor, clumsy Nathaniel. The brain is hardwired to protect against trauma, blinding people to their own reality. In hindsight of his current situation Neil couldn’t help being grateful for this fact.

The final days of summer were spent cementing his place in his new home. Neil fed the gossipmongers his story and let them come to his premeditated conclusion the Jostens are, and always would be utterly commonplace. The teen settled on a house close enough to school he could run or walk there with ease and neighbors who were so invested in their daily soaps he could slip in and out unnoticed.

Hard parts taken care of, Neil immersed himself in the exacting process of getting reacquainted with his first love, Exy. The racquet was clumsy in his hands and he couldn’t help resenting his mother for all the years she denied him this simple pleasure even if he now knew her reasons for doing so.

Fortunately there was small YMCA a town over boasting an indoor soccer field which allowed Neil to work on rebounds and passing without the need for another person. He utilized what training drills he could find from the internet, archived Exy World magazine articles, and what was likely a very dated ‘how to’ guide book. Regardless he felt a sort of exhilaration finally doing something he wanted for the first time in many years. The rebellious teenager rejoiced in this new found freedom despite the memory of his mother waiting for him in his nightmares. Neil was comforted by the fact she would never again beat him black and blue for disobeying her.

Neil woke early on the first day of school, packing his best set of clothes, and taking off at a run. Making his way to where he knew the locker room to be, he showered and changed quickly before setting out to his first class. The hallway was mostly deserted except for a few curious onlookers. Halfway up a set of stairs he was startled by a young girl waiting at the top.

“Hi,” she said, accompanied by a blinding smile,“I’m Jenny.”

Out of practice from months in isolation Neil could only gape at her. She was unassuming; average height, blonde, but nothing about her outward appearance explained why she suddenly felt the need to introduce herself.

“Ummm,” she licked her lips nervously.

“Uh hey,” Neil responded, inclining his head in a small greeting. “I’m Neil.”

“I know—I mean, yes of course you are—oh my gosh this is so embarrassing,” the girl rambled.

 _Jenny_ , Neil reminded himself. Still baffled as to why she was interested in speaking to him, Neil stood there dumbly until the young teen shoved a manilla envelope into his chest.

“Your welcome packet,” she began, “Ms. Johnson said you never picked it up at orientation.”

Looking down at the proffered package Neil gripped the edges holding it more securely and thanked her. For some unknown reason she blushed and scurried away.

 _Girls are weird,_ he thought and rubbed his face in a rare show of agitation.

The day continued much of the same. An occasional classmate would pluck up the courage to say 'hi' before rapidly growing bored upon realizing Neil refused to speak past a polite greeting. This suited him just fine. Neil was happy to melt into the background, drifting through the monotony of syllabi and expectations until the bell rang out signaling the end of classes. The teen's palms became damp as he contemplated what he planned to do next.

Seeking out the locker room once more he made his way to the small office of none other than coach Hernandez. Neil rapped softly on the open doorway. The man in question looked up from behind a messy desk to gaze at him.

“Coach Hernandez?”

“One and the same, how can I help ya kid?” he asked, pasting on a welcoming smile.

“I’m interested in joining the Exy team,” he choked out in a rush. Neil did his best not to think of his mother rolling in her shallow grave this very minute.

Coach Hernandez’s eyes twinkled in excitement as he took in the young man before him. Standing, he gestured for Neil to come inside and take a seat.

Perching on the edge of his chair across from the middle aged man Neil pulled out his permission slip and annual physical paperwork. He gently set them on the desk in front of him.

“So kid, what made you want to play Exy?”

Neil shrugged noncommittally. _How could he possibly explain the convoluted reasons as to the significance this sport played in his past and now plays in shaping his future?_ The teen asked himself.

“Do you have experience?” Hernandez continued, unbothered by boy’s lack of verbal response.

At this Neil peered up from where he was studying his fingers, “A bit—yes, I played little league when I was younger, backliner specifically. Though it has been some time since I’ve picked up a racquet. I’ve recently started training as a striker when I learned you were short players in that position.”

Coach clapped his hands in glee, unaware of the young teen’s struggle to swallow back the bile burning his esophagus for sharing that rare piece of truth. “That's great news young man, let’s get you registered. What did you say your name was?”

“It’s Neil Josten, sir.”

“Nice to meet ya Neil,” Hernandez replied, reaching a hand out in offering. Neil barely managed to suppress a full bodied shiver at touching this man so close in age to his father.

“You too sir,” he mumbled.

“Looks like you came prepared,” he began, shuffling the papers around. “We start practice next week 4-6pm and 9-11am on Saturdays with the exception of game days.”

Neil nodded, “Sir?”

“Please, call me coach,” he corrected.

“I have a couple requests to make of you before I commit to the team,” Neil hedged.

“Shoot kid, what ya got for me?”

Neil thought long and hard about this part of the conversation. The stipulations weren’t difficult or particularly demanding, but it could cause some unpleasant scrutiny if he didn't phrase it just right.

“First, I’d like to be trained as both a striker and backliner,” Neil said, before quickly adding, “of course I leave competition lineups to you.”

The man’s eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt waving for him to keep talking.

Neil swallowed, “Second, my parents aren’t the most supportive of my so called 'fascination’ with Exy. If we make it to regionals they’ve agreed to let me continue playing should I get scouted.”

“Ouch, tough break.”

Shrugging his shoulders again, Neil resumed speaking, “I’m not sure what our chances are, but it’s better than a flat out no.”

Coach Hernandez bobbed his head in agreement, “Damn straight kid!”

“So if we're on track to have a successful season and you decide I have sufficient talent I’d like to have a say in where my file is sent for recruiting purposes.”

The older man’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, “Okay—doable, if a bit unorthodox. Do you mind if I ask why?”

Neil rolled his eyes feigning a child long suffering unreasonable expectations from their parents, “As you may have already guessed, my family has a strong opinion on just about everything. I have to be recruited by a Class I university if they are to accept it fully.”

“Jesus Neil your parents sound like a real treat,” Hernandez sympathized.

“You don’t the half of it coach,” Neil replied, nearly laughing at the image of Hernandez meeting his father.

“I’m sensing you have another condition.”

“I—I’m, it’s not something I like to advertise,” Neil started, doing his utmost to appear vulnerable. “My parents they’re not bad people, strict maybe, but overall they do a decent job at providing for me. However, their relationship isn’t—well it isn’t great and their fights can sometimes turn violent.”

At Hernandez’s stricken face Neil was quick to clarify.

“Oh they’d never raise a hand to me or anything like that sir,” he said, resisting the itch to rub at his numerous scars. “It’s just my old homeroom teacher used to turn a blind eye when I’d occasionally sleep on the premises to avoid the worst of their arguments. I was hoping you’d do the same.”

 _Hook line and sinker_ , Neil thought after seeing the coach’s relieved expression.

“Of course my boy,” he pledged, “and I want you to know if you ever, you know, need to talk or anything my door is always open.”

Neil gazed at him in perfect understanding, “Thank you sir—coach.”

Cataloguing the older man’s pleased smile Neil was shocked to realize he’d made his first official ally and it left him vibrating with exhilaration for the upcoming school year.

As the temperature turned colder, Neil threw himself with a single minded focus into improving his game. With little else to distract him, his skills improved rapidly. His coach even sponsored him to attend a few training camps in the surrounding cities. Halloween saw Neil confident enough in his abilities to start in on the next phase of his plan. In order to carry it out he had to purchase something he never thought he’d own again, a personal cell phone along with a few burners for good measure. Safely sequestered in his modest house in Millport he dialed a number he had long since memorized.

“Hello,” a rough voice answered on the third ring.

Neil tamped down the unexpected surge of anxiety before speaking, “Uncle Stuart?”

“Who is this?” the man growled. “This some kind of practical joke?”

“Is this Stuart Hatford, Mary’s brother?” the teen asked, hesitantly.

“Yes,” he affirmed. “Now who in the bloody hell are you?”

A wave of relief flooded Neil, “This is Nathaniel, Mary’s son. We met briefly a few years ago. She often referred to me as Abram.”

“Nathaniel?” he asked, incredulously. “We feared the worst son. Is Mary with you?”

“I—no, I don’t know how to tell you this,” he swallowed, voice trembling, “she didn’t make it.”

Neil thought he’d lost the connection when it went silent for a good minute before his uncle spoke again.

“How?”

“My father, Nathan’s men caught up to us in Seattle,” Neil explained. “She took a beating, I think there was some kind of metal pipe; it was a trap. We barely made it out of there.”

“Take your time,” the older Hatford encouraged.

The young teen set about the arduous task of recounting their horrifying escape from Washington. He glossed over their last conversation leaving out the involvement of the Moriyamas, unsure of how deep the ties his Mother’s family ran, but he did share what he could of her final hours and described her resting place.

“I don’t know what h-happened. One minute we were talking and the next, she was just gone. I’m so sorry Uncle Stuart I had no idea the extent of her injuries. We made it through so many other rough scrapes than this I just assumed—” Neil apologized. “She kept insisting she was fine and I wanted so badly to believe her I ignored what was right in front of my face. I should’ve done something!”

Unsuspectingly the emotions Neil had been pushing down for months chose this moment to break free. Tears escaped past Neil’s carefully crafted mask and he swore he could smell burning flesh so strongly it coated the back of his throat. Wrestling to get his breathing under control his Uncle’s voice became white noise in the background.

“Abram, listen to me,” Stuart cut in harshly. “It wasn’t your fault, she was a stubborn one, our Mary.”

An indeterminate amount of time passed where Neil’s world narrowed down to his uncle’s lilting accent and the simple act of taking one more breath.

“You still with me lad?”

“Sadly,” Neil replied.

“You have your mom’s penchant for drama I see. Though I appreciate the call, I doubt you rang me just to chat,” the older man stated. “What’s going on, you in some kind of trouble?”

“Not exactly,” Neil evaded, “at least not the immediate kind. I need a favor…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done setting the stage folks, I promise this isn't meant to be a cliff hanger, I'm just not ready to fully disclose Neil's plan. You'll find out eventually. Next time: Andrew makes his first appearance... Kudos are love, as are comments. I hope to hear from ya!


	3. Many Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew gets a late night surprise and Neil has both expected and unexpected visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue/verbiage comes directly from the books, but may occur in a slightly different way. I also exercised some creative licensing and made the perfect court’s numbers Roman numerals because I think it would look cooler.  
> Warnings: language

Andrew jolted awake tossing aside the covers and fumbling for the lamp switch in the unfamiliar space. Successfully turning it on, a soft glow filled the standard hotel room complete with two queen beds and a six drawer monstrosity of a dresser that doubled as the TV stand. He spied his cousin and twin still asleep on the mattress nearest the hallway. 

The blonde wasted no time in locating the source of what disturbed his sleep, an incessant pounding on the door. He noiselessly padded toward the disturbance slipping free one of his many knives. Upon realizing he'd need to stand on his tiptoes to take advantage the peephole Andrew muttered a few choice curse words. Assessing the person as a non-threat Andrew determined it was safe to stow his blade and wrenched open the door to greet the team nurse.

“Abby,” he said flatly.

“I’m so sorry to bother you this late, but David says he needs you,” she professed while tucking a wayward piece of hair out of her face. It was at that moment Andrew noticed the splatter of blood coating her wrist. Immediately put on guard he gripped the fabric of his sleeves.

“Why?”

She blinked at him.

“Why does he need me?” Andrew enunciated.

“Oh,” she blushed, “not out here, bring your family if you must, but it’s urgent. Room 217.”

Before he could push for more details Abby was already halfway around the corner.

“Shitheads wake up,” Andrew growled, ripping the comforter off the other boys.

“Fuck you,” his twin grumbled, shoving a pillow over his head.

“You have two minutes to get your asses out of bed and follow me,” he ordered. “Coach is demanding our presence for whatever the fuck reason and I refuse to let you idiots out of my sight.”

Andrew stepped into the bathroom trusting his message was received. He glanced at his reflection feeling a flicker of annoyance behind the artificial high. What limited emotions he possessed were always stronger late at night when the effects of the meds had time to diminish. Dull hazel eyes stared back in a face that some might call attractive; it made little difference to Andrew beyond that it doubled as a weapon and a danger. Before he could do something reckless like punch his hand through the mirror the blonde splashed some water on his face instead and roughly jammed on his hoodie.

Finished with his ministrations Andrew reentered the main area to witness his cousin struggle into a pair of sneakers. No words were needed as he strode forward intent on the exit, swiping a keycard off the dresser on his way past. Andrew did his best to tune out his brother’s ceaseless complaints as they traipsed up a floor to Wymack’s room. Too tired and uncaring to be polite he repeatedly kicked his heavy boots into the base of the door in his version of a ‘knock’.

“Get in,” the burly man barked stepping back to give them room to enter.

The goalie wasn’t quite sure what he expected upon the rude wakeup call, but this was not it. Abby was a flurry of motion as she tended a large young man hunched over in the only armchair available. He looked up at their entrance and Andrew was shocked to discover he could readily identify him. _Kevin Day_ his mind supplied.

“What the fuck?” Aaron snapped.

“I can’t get him to tell me what happened,” coach began, completely ignoring his twin’s outburst. “He just showed up here looking a mess and too hysterical to make any sense. What was I supposed to do? Turn him away?”

“Yes,” Andrew answered without hesitation.

“Cold Minyard, real cold,” the older man stated. “Will you help?”

He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms in leu of a response.

“What’ll it take?” Wymack huffed.

“Three bottles of Johnny Walker Blue and new futon for our dorm,” Andrew bargained.

“Done,” Wymack agreed easily. “Now do something.”

“Should’ve said five,” Andrew grumbled approaching the striker while keeping an eye on his family. “Hey Day you decide to see if your hand made a good addition to your protein smoothies or did you finally have enough of being second best you took yourself out of the game?”

“Fuck you!” Kevin spat.

“Original,” Andrew said and turned to Wymack, “I give up coach, I tried.”

“Minyard,” he warned.

“Only joking,” Andrew said, fingers itching for a cigarette. Crouching down so he could peer up at the kid he immediately noticed how green eyes flinched anytime someone moved and the telling tightness around full lips where his teeth must be clenched in pain. Andrew gauged his options before barking an order, “Everyone out.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Abby protested.

The goalie looked up from his place on floor making eye contact with the gruff coach. Whatever Wymack saw in those few seconds was enough for him to herd the others away. Andrew waited another minute to make sure they were out of earshot before returning his attention to the problem at hand.

“Ok, talk,” the blonde commanded.

“I can’t,” Kevin objected. "You don’t understand. They’ll kill me or d-drag me back. I don’t know which is worse. I can’t go back there. I can’t—”

“Who?” Andrew asked, noting the flash of fear he saw in the striker’s face.

Day shook his head lost in whatever gripping emotion sealed his mouth shut. Andrew resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatic little shit. _Boring,_ he thought.

“Here’s how this is gonna work,” Andrew explained, squeezing the striker’s injured hand in an unforgiving clasp. He had no difficulty ignoring the moan of discomfort and continued speaking. “I’m going to ask you one more time for the truth and you’re going to give it to me. Why? Because you came to us out of some form of desperation and I’m the best shot you have at surviving whatever you think is hunting you, real or imagined. You want to stay? Convince me. I have no qualms over turning you out on your ass no matter what state you're in.”

“Ok Jesus, let go, you’re hurting me.”

Andrew held on for another couple breaths to emphasize his point before rocking back on his heels.

“What do you know of the Moriyamas?” Kevin asked.

“That Riko is an entitled asshole who thinks he's God’s gift to Exy, why?”

“This is futile,” Day said and gave him a look of exasperation before attempting to rise out of his seat.

"Move another inch and I'll slice your balls off," Andrew warned. He waited for the other boy to take stock of the knife only a hairsbreadth from his groin.

"What the fuck!" Kevin yelled, scooting backwards in an attempt to create some space.

"I think you are starting to see the point, yes?" Andrew asked and tilted his blade so it glinted in the dim light of the hotel room.

"You're certifiably insane," Day stated eyes wide with barely constrained panic.

Andrew felt a manic grin tug at his lips, "Ah...I see you've read my file, and yet, are you not the crazy one for trying to recruit me in the first place?" 

It was a purely rhetorical question but evidently Kevin felt the need to answer, "You were wasting your talent, you could be—"

"Oh Kev, can I call you Kev? Or do you prefer son of Exy, greek tragedy in the making...?" Andrew trailed off, slicing a hole in the other boy's dress pants for amusement and to watch him squirm. "I thought we'd already established I'm the one in charge so stop wasting my fucking time and tell me why I should let you anywhere near my family or don't, and die. I don't care."

Kevin visibly swallowed, "The Moriyamas are a crime family.”

"A bit lackluster there Day, I want details," Andrew stated.

The striker complied spinning an unbelievable tale of estranged families, Japanese Yakuza, and all that entailed. From cold blooded murder to clandestine meetings hosted at an Exy stadium of all places, Kevin spared nothing. Andrew felt an unexpected spike of interest as his mind whirled with all the implications. It was swiftly whisked away by the drugs, however it was enough to buy the boy another few minutes in his presence.

“What do they want with you?” Andrew asked.

“I am—was a project of sorts,” Kevin said. “When my mother passed the Mast—Tetsuji took me in. I guess technically he is my godfather but I was never considered family. It was all a grand scheme to create a legend, Riko and I, the future of Exy. I was given to Riko as a pet, someone to mold into his perfect partner that is until..."

Andrew observed as Day studied his hand. The striker looked at it as if it was something unfamiliar, a phantom limb.

"I was only allowed to leave because I outgrew my usefulness," Kevin continued, still staring at his mangled hand. "The fact I'm even alive, let alone here outside of the Nest, is inconceivable. If the Ma—Tetsuji called tomorrow and told me to come home, I would. I know what they are capable of, I’d be too afraid to say no.”

“Why our team?” the goalie asked.

“Does it matter?” Kevin retorted, a bit of fire returning.

“Yes.”

“I ca—“ 

“If you finish that sentence I will gut you right now,” Andrew cut him off, brandishing his knife.

They were at a stalemate, apparently Kevin’s honesty had come to an end. Behind his synthetic high Andrew registered another flash of something akin to curiosity.

“Ok,” he allowed, “besides the obvious baggage you come with, does this secret add any additional danger to me and mine?”

The dark haired boy appeared to contemplate it before shaking his head negative.

“Why?”

“I already told you—“

“No, you idiot, not why are you here,” Andrew interrupted, “What's in it for me?”

Caught off guard, a charged silence fell as the other boy tried to comprehend. Andrew felt his attention drifting until Kevin spoke up again.

"What do you want?”

Andrew scoffed, “I want nothing.”

The striker seemed to think hard on it before making an offering. “Me,” he paused, “if you protect me from the M-Master and Riko, I’ll give you something to live for by the time you graduate.”

For the first time that night it was Andrew’s turn to be surprised. Laughter bubbled up ugly and jarring without warning at the striker’s bold proclamation. Unable to stop it, Andrew hunched over in mirth until tears stung his eyes. Feeling the ever present buoyancy of the drugs, Andrew stood.

“Deal,” he declared.

** -Meanwhile back at Millport- **

Neil stretched inside his sleeping bag enjoying the last dregs of warmth before he unzipped himself and began the simple task of boiling water for tea. It was the holiday break, a new year had begun, and with it Neil delighted in his lazy morning routine. While he waited for the electric kettle to heat, he scrolled through the latest news stories for anything of importance, nearly dropping his phone in shock at the sports section.

**_“Son of Exy, Kevin Day, Suffers Career Ending Injury in Skiing Accident”_ **

The teen wasted no time in opening up the full article. Since December the two sons of Exy had all but vanished from the public eye. Even his uncle struggled to find any scrap of intelligence. Neil devoured the story feeling his shoulders tighten in apprehension with each word. Riko and Kevin had supposedly taken a spontaneous trip to the nearby Snowshoe Mountain Resort where a horrific skiing accident resulted in shattering Kevin’s left hand. Knowing what he did of the two national team players, Neil suspected it was no accident.

All his carefully laid plans could come crumbling down if he didn’t get ahead of this. Closing out the ESPN app Neil texted his uncle.

Anxiety ate at the teen over the next week as he waited to hear back. It didn’t help that Neil's teammates wouldn’t shut up about it. He nearly threw away his ‘meek guy’ facade and punched their defensive dealer after his third attempt to reenact the tragedy. Even Coach Hernandez asked if he was feeling ok.

Six long days later Neil got what he needed, Uncle Stuart sent an encrypted file with the info he requested. What he found was disturbing to say the least. If Riko really did what the email was insinuating he had a very difficult decision to make.

_Riko or Kevin? How does one chose between the so called ‘sons of Exy’?_ Neil asked himself.

Three months later Neil was preparing for the first game of the spring season when all his scheming came to fruition with a single line of text.

**_'It’s done.'_ **

The Exy junkie had been prepping for this from day one but still failed to quell the hammering of his heart.

_Time to join the big leagues,_ Neil thought.

**-Time Skip-**

Neil let his cigarette burn to the filter without taking a drag. It wasn’t the nicotine he was after, but the memory of his mother. He could almost feel the tight grip of her hand in his hair, a slap to his cheek. The taste of gasoline and fire were heavy on his tongue. It was both revolting and comforting sending a repulsive shudder down his spine jarring loose the last of his ash onto the bleacher below. If she could see him now she’d beat him to hell and back for moping around like this.

The door squealed alerting him to another person’s presence. Neil glanced behind discerning the familiar visage of Coach Hernandez.

“I didn’t see your parents at the game,” Hernandez said. “They still upset we made regionals?”

“They’re out of town,” Neil said.

“Still or again?”

A blank stare explained it all, _does it really matter?_

“Thought they might make an exception tonight,” the older man remarked.

Neil gazed out at the court, “No one new it’d be the last game.”

Millport’s loss tonight booted them from the state championships two games from finals. It was over, just like that. A crew was already dismantling any evidence of the match played tonight. Astroturf was rolled over the hard floor and the plexiglass walls unhinged returning it once more to a soccer field. It left Neil feeling bereft. 

“Oh that’s right,” Hernandez said, breaking the teen from his morose thoughts. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Neil leaped to his feet and slung his gear bag over his shoulder resisting the urge to run as the silhouette of a man filled the doorway. Sleeves of tribal flame tattoos alerted him instantly as to the identity of his unexpected visiter.

“This here is David Wymack, he’s from Palmetto State University,” Hernandez said. “Apparently he came to see you play tonight.” 

“Bullshit, no one recruits from Millport,” Neil said. “Surprised you even know where it is.”

“There’s this thing called a map,” Coach Wymack replied, “you might’ve heard of it.”

Hernandez sent Neil a warning look. “He’s here because I allegedly sent him your file. They find themselves short a striker last minute and figured it was worth a shot.”

The player in question knew very well Hernandez never sent that file per their agreement, but Neil had a sinking feeling he knew who did.

“It’s stupid late in the season for me to be here, I know,” Wymack began, “but I had some technical difficulties with my last recruit. Works out perfectly doesn’t it? I need a striker sub and you need a team. All you have to do is sign on the dotted line and you’re mine for five years.”

Neil scoffed, _technical difficulties indeed...that is, if you count attempted suicide. The poor girl had been found bleeding out in a bathtub by her best friend._

“You can’t be serious?” Neil asked.

“Deadly and I need an answer tonight. The Committee’s been hounding me since Janie got locked up.”

“I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time,” Neil stated and tried to skirt around the stocky man.

“Not so fast.”

“Please go away,” the teen requested, “I gave you my answer.”

“Yet here I stand,” Wymack said. “You need a pen?”

“No,” Neil replied. “No. I’m not playing for you.”

“I think I misheard you,” Wymack tried.

“Did you not just sign Kevin Day?”

“And Kevin’s signing you, so—“

Neil didn’t stick around for the rest. _Let Coach Hernandez clean up this mess,_ he thought. Taking off at run up the bleachers, the pounding of his feet on the metal loud enough to drown out any protests from the two coaches. 

He was partway through the locker room when he realized he wasn’t alone. Light glinted off a bright yellow racquet as the stranger took a swing. Neil was going too fast to stop. Pain burst sharply across his abdomen driving the air from his lungs. His body seized as it tried to draw breath, but his muscles refused to cooperate. There were voices in his ears, but they sounded a thousand miles away.

“God damn it, Minyard. This is why we can’t have nice things.”

“Oh coach,” someone said over Neil’s head. “If he was nice, he wouldn’t be any use to us, would he?”

“He’s no use to us if you break him.”

“You’d rather I let him go? Put a band-aid on him and he’ll be good as new.”

The world tilted and then sharpened as Neil drew his first gulp of air into his starving lungs.

“Wh-what the actual fuck,” Neil swore.

“See? Not broken.” 

Neil looked up from his place on the ground. He’d seen this face in too many newspaper clippings to not know him on sight. Andrew Minyard didn’t look like much in person, blonde and five feet even on a good day, but Neil knew better. 

On the scale of the Foxes their goalkeeper wasn’t even on the spectrum: collateral damage, three years in juvie, and not to mention the court mandated anti-psychotic medication. _Danger_ , Neil’s mind screamed. Andrew was also the only person to ever turn down the first-ranked Edgar Allan University. He was a wildcard and Neil hated the unknown.

“Fuck you,” Neil said. “Whose racquet did you steal?”

“Borrow,” Andrew tossed it. “Here you go.”

“Jesus, you alright kid?” Hernandez asked, catching Neil under his elbow to help him up.

“Andrew’s a bit short on manners, no pun intended,” Wymack said, coming to stand between the two boys. “He break anything?”

“I’m fine. Coach, I’m leaving.”

“We’re not done,” Wymack said.

“Coach Wymack—“ Hernandez started.

He didn’t let him finish. “Give us a second?”

Neil guessed his coach was trying to intercede on his behalf but these bastards weren’t going to let him. Nodding his assent Hernandez quietly retreated to his office. “Holler if you need me kid.”

“I already gave you my answer. I can’t sign with you.” Neil stated, the exasperation obvious.

“You didn’t listen to my whole offer,” Wymack said. “I paid to fly three people out here to see you. The least you could do is give me five minutes, don’t you think?”

“Three?” Neil asked. 

“I wasn’t joking when I said Kevin Day chose you,” Wymack said and then gestured to the dark haired boy over his shoulder.

Neil should’ve guessed when he saw Andrew here. Rumor has it the ex-Raven didn’t go anywhere without his shadow these days, though Neil couldn’t blame him after learning the truth concerning his injury.  Kevin was sitting on the top of the entertainment center along the back wall. He’d pushed the TV off on one side so he could spread out. He’d watched this entire spectacle and, judging by the cool look on his face, was unimpressed. 

It had been years since Neil stood in the same room as Kevin, years since they watched Neil’s father cut a screaming man into a hundred bloody pieces. He knew his face as well as he knew his own. Neil couldn’t help but stare at the black roman numeral two tattooed onto his left cheekbone, it made him want to retch.

“What are you doing here?” Neil asked, through gritted teeth.

“Why were you leaving?”

“I asked you first,” Neil said, petulantly.

“Coach already answered that question,” Kevin said, a tad impatiently. “We are waiting for you to sign the contract. Stop wasting our time.”

Neil laughed and noticed Andrew shift out of the corner of his eye at the unusual response. Only a year ago he would’ve killed to hear those words, but now they made bile rise in his throat.

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we’re not leaving here until you say yes. Kevin says we have to have you, and he's right,” Wymack said.

“We should’ve thrown away your coach’s letter the second we opened it,” Kevin said. “Your file is deplorable and I don’t want someone with your inexperience on our court. It goes against everything we’re trying to do with the Foxes this year. Fortunately for you, your coach knew better than to send us your statistics. He sent us a tape so we could see you in action instead. You play like you have everything to lose.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Neil asked. “It’s not I won’t sign, I can’t.”

“Why not?” surprisingly it was Andrew who spoke up.

Neil felt a shred of his father’s smile tug at his lips, “You’ve been played. I’m already signed. That so called ‘letter’ my coach sent? It isn’t authentic. My stats? They’re a bit rough around the edges, but otherwise impeccable. Go ahead, ask for a copy.”

The locker room fell silent as Wymack went to obtain the printout. Neil’s skin broke out in gooseflesh as hazel eyes bored into the side of his head. Neil couldn't resist glancing down at the armbands where he knew Andrew kept more than one knife hidden. The resulting grin on the other boy's face at noticing Neil's perusal was downright predatory. A disturbance inside Coach Hernandez’s office shattered moment.

“God fucking dammit!” Wymack shouted while striding through the doorway not stopping until he was close enough to wave the papers in Neil’s face.

Unable to control his response Neil lost his balance in his haste to create more distance. The older man paused. Whether he guessed at the true reasons for his reaction or not, the teen was grateful for the extra space.

“Someone’s got issues,” Andrew said under his breath.

Neil’s head whipped to glare at the keeper.

“Explain,” Wymack demanded.

“I already told you,” Neil sighed. “Someone is messing with you.”

“I have a feeling you know who.” Andrew said and stepped closer until he was within arms reach.

Neil’s eyes flicked to Kevin still perched on the entertainment center. In a flash he felt the prick of a knife at his neck.

“Miny—“

“It’s alright,” Neil interrupted, looking down at the hilt. “I’m fine, he’s not going to hurt me.”

“Don’t be too sure about that little rabbit.” Andrew pressed the blade deeper.

Neil felt a trickle of blood slide down to pool in his collarbone, “Considering I’m taller than you the ‘little’ part was inacurate.”

The blonde growled.

“I have yet to lie to you,” Neil said, “and may I remind everyone you were the ones to show up here of your own volition, uninvited I might add.”

Neil let his mask slip as he maintained eye contact with Andrew. It was difficult to say how long they stood there like that, it could’ve been minutes or merely seconds, Neil didn’t know. His vision narrowed down to studying the flecks of gold in the young man’s eyes and for the first time in a long while felt a spark for something other than Exy.

“Fine,” Andrew backed off, “start talking.”

** -Flashback 6 Weeks Prior- **

Neil tapped his racquet against the hard floor in agitation. His partner was trying to play the hero tonight; throwing his body with reckless abandon at the opponent’s attacking line. Neil was subbing as backliner today due to an injured teammate and couldn’t help as the wave of nostalgia washed over him at playing the position again. There was something uniquely cathartic about smashing someone into the boards

His reverie was broken by the sharp whistle signaling half time. Neil jogged over to join his team in the huddle and bent down to snag a water-bottle out of the caddy. As he tipped his head back to squeeze the liquid into his mouth his eyes caught on an odd speck of color in the crowd, neither team tonight was sporting red or black. 

_Finally,_ Neil thought.

The game finished without fanfare so Neil began his usual routine of stripping off his gear to waste time on the track until he could have the showers to himself and if he was being honest, delay the inevitable. Neil knew his time was up when he saw two mismatched boys stride out of the locker room.

Neil slowed his pace allowing them to approach. One was tall, substantial really, with a dark head of hair and icy gray eyes. The shorter of the two was only slighter taller than Neil, putting him close to 5’5” in height. He was of Asian descent with almond shaped eyes, brown in color, but it was the numbers on their left cheeks which screamed their identities. The Raven’s number one and three had come to Millport.

“Hey,” Riko yelled, “number 10!”

Neil came to a halt just outside of their reach but close enough to keep it from being obvious. He waited for their next move.

“Ah, you look familiar,” Jean said, in accented English. “What was your name again? Alex? Stefan? Chris?”

In another lifetime this would’ve been enough to send him running, but not today, “It’s Neil.”

“Hmmm?” Jean cocked his head. “You don’t look much like a Neil.”

“Blame my mother,” Neil said. “She named me.”

“How is she doing by the way?” Riko asked.

Neil gazed into placid dark eyes and felt anger surge up hot and heavy. “Perhaps you’ll have the chance to ask her yourself someday soon.”

In eight years on the run Neil had been through sixteen countries and twenty-two names. Hearing one name from Jean wouldn’t mean anything. Hearing three wasn’t a coincidence. It was a threat. Neil had been warned Riko would unearth his trail no matter how well he and his mother buried it. Though it had been expected, it still left his skin crawling.

“Thought you were playing striker these days?” Jean asked, switching topics.

“Mostly,” Neil agreed, “but we’ve had a run in with some bad luck of late, so I’ve been filling in as backliner. I’ve been training in both positions all season.”

Jean raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, “How peculiar.”

“Enough chit-chat,” Riko interjected, “you must know who we are.”

“Sorry, no, should I?” Neil squinted pretending to take a harder look. He’d no doubt pay for his feigned ignorance later, but seeing the offended look on Riko’s face was totally worth it.

“Are you dumb?” Riko asked, and pointedly tapped his tattoo.

“Never had much chance to watch TV growing up,” Neil evaded, “you famous or something?”

Jean scoffed and said something in French too quick for Neil to catch.

“Nathaniel Wesninski,” Riko said.

Neil didn’t quite manage to hide his flinch causing the youngest Moriyama to smile in victory.

“I see you’re not as obedient as your coach made you out to be,” Riko claimed. “We’ll fix that.”

The charade was up. “You can try.”

Jean gave a long suffering groan from over the shorter boy's head, but before anything could occur they were interrupted.

“I see you’ve met Riko and Jean already,” the stranger said.

Neil pivoted to take in the only living creator of Exy, Tetsuji Moriyama.

“We were just getting acquainted,” Riko said, “though I have misgivings about his intelligence. Perchance were dropped on your head at birth _Neil?_ ” 

Coach Hernandez saved him from answering, “Wonderful news Neil, Coach Moriyama here watched the game tape we sent him and thought it worth a flight out to see you pay in person. Isn’t that just great?”

Neil grimaced at his coach’s enthusiasm, Hernandez was completely oblivious to the pervasive atmosphere.

“Yes, just what we hoped for,” Neil replied with false cheer.

“Might I have a moment alone with young Neil here?” Tetsuji asked.

“Oh, of course, my apologies. I’ll be just inside if you need me," Hernandez rambled while backing away with a jerky bow.

“Shall we sit?” Coach Moriyama asked and pointed to the bleachers.

“That’s ok sir, this won’t take long right?”

Neil watched as Tetsuji’s eye spasmed in irritation and noticed Jean wince where the coach’s hand was now squeezing his bicep. 

“Not long at all, _Nathaniel_.”

“It’s Neil now,” the teen insisted.

“Is it?” Tetsuji asked. “That remains to be seen."

Neil inclined his head.

"No matter, let's cut to the chase shall we?" Tetsuji announced, stabbing his ornate walking cane into the ground. "You are aware of your mother’s interference all those years ago, are you not?”

Neil nodded, eyeing the cane warily, desperately wishing his uncle's research hadn't been quite so thorough.

“Then you are also aware of a certain ‘debt’ that is owed to my family?”

“It has come to my attention only recently, but yes, I am aware.” Neil fidgeted. He had practiced this conversation over and over in his head, but it did little to prepare him for the real thing.

Coach Moriyama pulled out a thick packet from his briefcase. “I was informed you’d be expecting us, but I must say this is a nice surprise, if a bit anticlimactic. I was rather looking forward to you running. It would certainly liven things up around here.”

Neil shrugged and catalogued Riko’s look of surprise. _It appears his Uncle doesn’t share everything with him,_ the teen was happy to note.

“I’m sure this summer will be entertainment enough,” Neil surmised.

A knowing smirk appeared on Tetsuji’s face, “Quite right you are.”

The young runaway held out his hands so Coach Moriyama could place the contract in them.

“Would you like to sign them now or fax them to us later?”

“I’d like to read the terms first,” Neil chose.

“Very well,” Tetsuji agreed. “I’m sure you understand, but I’ll expect them back no later than Monday.”

That gave Neil 48 hours to pick it apart; it would have to do.

“And Nathaniel?” Tetsuji added waving his hand to indicate a bulky Asian man at the edge of the track. “We’ll be watching.”

**-Present Day-**

“You see, I can't play for you because I’ve already signed with Edgar Allan,” Neil announced.

What sounded like a noise of pain escaped Kevin’s mouth and Wymack’s face darkened in rage. However, it was Andrew’s reaction that held his attention. The blonde’s head was titled in concentration, his eyes calculating; Neil let him read what he would from his expression.

Kevin moved for the first time since Neil entered the room. The striker got only a few paces away before Andrew stopped him with a hand to the chest.

“That’s close enough Day,” he cautioned.

“Why?” Kevin asked, eyes swimming in confusion.

“Why not?” Neil countered, shrugging. “Last I checked they were ranked first in the nation, boast the best facilities, and are coached by one of the very founders of Exy.”

Kevin choked and stumbled back a step. Andrew passively watched him struggle not even attempting to help. It was Wymack who came to the taller boy's assistance by pounding his back.

“Did I say something wrong?” Neil asked, unable to resist. He was playing with fire, but after months of feeling nothing he basked in the embers.

“Kid, Neil,” Wymack started, “can I call you Neil?”

Said boy laughed, like he hadn’t been calling him by his first name all night.

“Edgar Allan is no doubt a good school, but—”

The teen felt his curiosity pique, wondering how much the burly man was going to divulge.

“But they have a bit of a reputation,” Wymack finished.

_That’s putting it mildly,_ Neil thought.

“I see,” the teen replied.

“I’m not sure you do. You see—” Wymack tried again. 

“Don’t waste your breath David,” Andrew cut in.

“Miny—“

“He knows,” the goalie said.

Neil lifted his chin. “What is it I know exactly?”

“Coach a few moments of privacy," Andrew commanded, before hastily tacking on a sarcastic, "if you would.”

Wymack tossed his hands in the air clearly used to the younger twin’s antics and stepped out of the room without a word.

“You staying for this?” Andrew asked Kevin pointedly.

The striker hesitated, but ultimately decided to follow his coach out into the hallway.

“And then there were two,” Neil said with a slight quirk of his lips.

Andrew maneuvered into his personal space once more sending a thrill of expectation through Neil's body. It was weird, normally proximity made him anxious, but what he felt now was much closer to anticipation; it was confusing. Neil was jarred out of his thoughts when the keeper spoke up.

“I was wrong,” Andrew said. “You are not a rabbit after all.”

“I’m not?” Neil asked, curious.

“Maybe at one time you were, but not any longer.” Andrew’s expression sharpened. “No, definitely not a rabbit.”

“Then what am I?” Neil asked.

“A problem,” Andrew replied and then he lunged.

Neil reacted on pure instinct driving his forearm up and away pushing Andrew’s knife hand harmlessly to the side. He followed with a quick sweep of his legs missing the blonde by mere inches. The exchange couldn’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, but both were breathing hard at the end of it standing so close Neil could just make out the short stubble growing on Andrew's jaw. It was distracting enough he hardly noticed the sharp prick of a different blade in his lower abdomen.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” Andrew demanded, his blank mask unnerving.

Neil was no stranger to masks but it was still unsettling to witness such impassivity in someone capable of inflicting the amount of damage as Andrew Minyard. The teen was fascinated watching the twin's face toggle between empty and crazed with the occasional flash of something unnamable. Whatever the pills were responsible for controlling it looked more to Neil like it was tearing the other boy apart. He debated internally how best to proceed.

“I don't have one,” Neil admitted. "But I've been fighting to live for so long it'd be a shame to give up now eh?"

“You're fucking terrible at this,” the twin growled and made a vaguely threatening gesture with his knife. 

Neil laughed, “Sorry, it's been a bit of a rough year.”

“I'm waiting for the moment when you actually beg for your life,” Andrew stated tonelessly.

“I think we both have seen enough of the world to know begging never helps," Neil replied with disdain. "Then again, perhaps I don’t want to live."

Neil filed away the other boy's response at his words for further scrutiny later. He doubted Andrew even knew he'd glanced down at his own forearms. _Was it possible those sleeves hid more than weapons?_ Neil asked himself. Whatever caused Andrew's involuntary twitch it would make for an interesting story.

“Bullshit," Andrew called Neil's bluff. "I’ve watched your game film, you're just as bad as Kevin when it comes to the sport. Fucking junkies.”

“I don’t think anyone is on Day’s level,” Neil argued, “but you’re right to some degree. I can't give you a straight answer as to why you should let me live seeing as how I'm still trying to figure it out for myself, why I'm still fighting. What I can tell you is that I think we share a common enemy."

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Andrew said flatly. “That’s your best defense?”

“Precisely.”

“I need a little more than that, not rabbit.”

Neil was tempted to scrunch his nose like the aforementioned animal just to see if he could get a rise out of Andrew; the blonde’s apathy was starting to grate on his nerves. Neil warred with himself over what to do next. Slowly, as to telegraph his moves, he reached for Andrew’s hand not holding the knife and placed it under his jersey on the worst of his scarring. The blonde’s eyes dropped to Neil’s shirt like he could see Neil’s marred skin through the dark fabric.

“Do you understand?” Neil asked, breathlessly. “There is nothing Riko can do to me that likely hasn't been done before. I can survive him. No, I will survive him." 

“These feel like a little more than ouches,” Andrew said.

Neil shrugged sharing a look with the other teen. It was an acknowledgement of sorts from two kids who had seen the deepest hells of the world, witnessed first hand the depravity, and understood without a doubt what it was to suffer because of the perverseness of other people.

Andrew pulled free and folded his arms over his chest. He drummed the fingers of one hand on his bicep as he thought. Finally he laughed and turned away. “It’ll have to do, won’t it?”

Neil watched the blonde walk away and was filled with an acute sense of loss. Before he could think better of it he chased after the trio.

“Wait!” Neil shouted.

The three paused in their journey down the hall.

“I thought we were done here?” Andrew asked.

“One more thing,” Neil replied in German.

“A liar who practices occasional honestly? Clever. Keeps people guessing. Very effective. I would know. I do it myself, you see.” Andrew answered in the same language.

The taller individuals looked on in confusion.

“You still have that pen?” Neil asked Wymack, switching back to English.

Dumbly the coach handed over a standard ballpoint pen. Neil grasped it firmly, a sense of deja vu as he unhurriedly poised it over Andrew’s hand. With his nod of approval the teen began to write.

“When they make the official announcement of the Raven’s Fall lineup, if he needs to talk to me,” Neil spoke in German once more, “call this number. It’s a burner I keep on me at all times.”

Andrew glanced at Kevin immediately grasping to whom Neil was referring.

“And why would I do that?” the blonde asked returning the conversation to English.

“You may not need to,” Neil answered, “but if you do, you’ll understand why when it happens.”

“Maybe I’ll sign you up for all sorts of contests, keep your phone ringing all hours of the night,” Andrew threatened.

“You could,” the teen allowed, “but you won’t.”

“What makes you so confident?”

“Because you’re curious.” Neil declared and gave him a saucy wink before sprinting away in embarrassment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch that was hard...the stage is officially set. Time for the real canon divergence to begin. Would love to hear from you so drop a comment below and leave some kudos so I know you're enjoying the story so far! See ya next time.


	4. The Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil graduates and makes his way to West Virginia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some violence and blood, but still cannon-typical

If you asked Neil what he thought he'd be doing at eighteen, graduating high school would not be among them. Neil felt a pang of longing while he observed his peers hugging their loved ones, taking selfies with their friends, and overall acting their age.

_Was I ever that innocent?_ Neil asked himself. _Or was I born corrupted?_ A thousand different scenarios and there wasn’t one where the teen could picture it; every version of himself was somehow tainted.

A couple of his more outgoing peers attempted to cajole Neil into joining them but he was done pretending. Neil knew he wasn’t like them and never would be. The weight of his worries fell heavy upon his shoulders. Coach Hernandez was the only one at Millport who knew where Neil was headed next. Part of his contractual agreement with Edgar Allan was a non-disclosure of his intent to play for them this fall. Not that he had anyone to tell: a bunch of superficial classmates who cared more for the next video game system and an estranged family he trusted only so far. A flash of blonde hair and hazel eyes came unbidden. 

Neil shook his to head to empty if of unwanted thoughts and was startled by someone clearing their throat.

“Ahem.”

The teen turned. “Coach, what a surprise.”

“A good one I hope,” Hernandez said. “You have a minute?”

“Sure,” Neil agreed and fell into step behind the older man. It was a route he knew by heart now, his second home, the locker room.

“In here kid,” the coach said and stepped over the threshold of his office.

In a parody of when they first met Neil was stunned by how much had changed in less than a year.

“Listen, I know I’m not the best with words,” Hernandez began. “I don’t pretend to know what’s going on with my players’ lives, especially yours, but I know a troubled soul when I see one.”

Taken aback, Neil was unable to prevent his jaw dropping. All this time he thought the man to be oblivious, glaringly so.

“I should've expected that,” Coach Hernandez continued with a wry smile. “Don’t worry kid I'm just a big softie and I have no intentions of sharing my suspicions with anyone, but I do have something I'd like to give you.”

Neil was fascinated as he watched Hernandez root around behind his desk until he pulled out a small package. 

“It was my wife’s idea actually, so I can’t take full credit, but well—just go ahead and open it.”

Reaching out with shaking hands Neil cradled the gift gently and pried the lid off what must’ve been an old cardboard jewelry box. Inside rested two keys. Confused, Neil looked up searchingly.

“They’re to the locker room and the stadium gate.”

“I don’t understand,” the teen said, his hands gripping the keys so hard the grooves dug into his palm.

Hernandez gave him a pitying look, “Neil, I may not know what it is to not have a home but I do know the importance of having something to come back to, however small. You might have only been here for one school year kid, but I care about you and want you to know you’ll always have a place here for as long as I coach. Just don’t tell the school board I gave you those alright?”

Neil was dumbfounded, it had been so long since he had a home he’d forgotten what it felt like. The gaping hole in his chest ached with a yearning so hard he forgot to breathe. The world whited out and it barely registered as his hip banged into the edge of the desk. Someone was suddenly rubbing his back murmuring reassuring words.

“Hey, count with me Neil, deep breath in 1…,2…,3…that’s it. Stay with me son.”

The teen was unsure of how long he remained that way listening to the rumbling of his coach’s voice in his ear, a gentle hand on his back; he was thrown to realize the tactile touch no longer bothered him.

“Th-thank you.”

“What was that?” Hernandez asked.

Neil looked up at him through blurry vision, “Thank you.”

“Course kid, you just remember me now when you’re famous.”

Neil laughed and instantly felt lighter. Millport may have been a means to an end, but it had somehow become a balm to his fresh grief and a place to re-learn what it meant to live.

Two days later found Neil in an unfamiliar airport, his meager belongings strapped to his body. It was dizzying being here without his mother. They never went through the same airport twice. He tightened his grip on his bag and strode through the automated glass doors.

Neil let himself get lost in the chaos. He was just another face in the crowd, anonymous and inconsequential. The teen made his way to the check-in desk and handed over his ID to the airline worker. She typed a few things into her computer and then signaled for him to weigh his bag. Neil shook his head to indicate he only brought a carryon. The lady smiled before handing him his boarding pass, wishing him a safe flight.

Falling in with the stream of the crowd Neil headed to the security check point and toed off his shoes. His bag made it through the scanners and to the other side before he did. Upon collecting his stuff Neil made his way towards his gate searching for a quiet spot. Most of the seats were taken, so Neil opted to lean against a pillar to wait. He watched as a sea of unfamiliar faces flowed by. Neil was alone.

He should’ve been grateful to have a couple moments by himself before the nightmare started, but Neil was left feeling out of sorts. He buried his hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the keys from Coach Hernandez in a death grip. The pain helped center him.

Before too long the gate attendant’s voice on the PA system disturbed him from his downward spiral. “Passengers for flight 176 to Charleston, we will begin boarding soon. Please report to gate D23 and wait for your group to be called.”

Neil’s seat was surprisingly in business-class, he could imagine Riko saying something about how ‘Ravens only fly in style’ or something like that; he was grateful for the extra room regardless. Neil refused the flight attendant’s offer to stow his bag and shoved it under the seat in front of him instead. It was a hard habit to break letting his duffle out of his sight.

When everyone was finally seated and the overhead compartments latched shut, the typical safety spiel began. Neil glanced at the emergency exit door but wasn’t as tempted as he might once have been only a short year ago.

Facing Riko like this went against everything his mother taught him. He’d been raised to run, to sacrifice everything and everyone to ensure his own survival. It was what he’d promised his mother that fateful day in the van. She had never given him ground to stand on. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been strong enough to save her in the end. A jumble of lies, after all, had nothing to fight for. But Neil Josten wasn’t nothing anymore and he planned to wage war.

The teen managed to doze through part of the flight, but awoke when they landed. A perk of the upgraded seats allowed him to unload first putting him ahead of the masses. He saw a familiar head of dark hair waiting for him in arrivals.

Jean watched his approach with a cool look on his face, and there was an edge in his voice when he said, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Let’s go,” Neil said, choosing to ignore it.

The ride was silent, but the first sight of Castle Evermore had Neil’s blood buzzing in recognition. Evermore looked like a monument rather than an athletic stadium, and its jet-black exterior made it even more imposing. It was nearly double the size of an average college stadium making Neil doubt the Ravens could fill every seat at every game, but the US Court likely sold out instantly. A shiver passed through him as he imagined what game nights must sound like inside.

Jean stopped at a gate and reached out his window to type in a code. The gate swung open to admit them with a screech and the Frenchman drove into the barricaded parking structure. A line of cars was already parked in the first row; all identical. Neil rolled his eyes at the predictability of it, right down to the matching license plates only a couple digits off from each other. It took him only a moment to decode the sequence. EA had to be Edgar Allan, and the numbers most likely class years and jersey numbers.

“This isn’t a team,” Neil said. “It’s a cult.”

“One you knowingly signed up for,” Jean snapped back, and parked in the open spot his teammates left for him. “Get out.”

Neil grabbed his bag and clambered out. Jean walked him to the door and put in another passcode. The tones indicated it was different from the one at the gate, Neil discerned, and filed it away for further study later. The keypad flashed green, so Jean tugged open the door. However instead of going in, he looked back at Neil.

“Take a look at the sky. You won’t see it again until you leave.”

“I’ve seen it,” Neil said stubbornly.

Jean’s smile mocked that bit of defiance and he gestured for Neil to precede him. The door had opened to a stairwell going down. Everything was painted black. The only light and color was a sinuous red LED tube down the middle of the ceiling. It wasn’t quite bright enough. When the taller boy slammed the door behind them Neil almost tripped down the stairs. Using his hand to steady him on the wall he started to descend. At his back, Jean didn’t rush him.

Neil counted his steps, wanting to know how deep they were going, and made it to twenty-six before the stairs dead-ended at another door. Confused he looked back at his escort. Jean reached past him to put in a third password, and Neil stepped into the Ravens’ living quarters.

“Welcome to the Nest,” Jean said.

“Cult,” Neil corrected.

Jean ignored his comment and took him on a tour. The space was originally built to house the visiting teams, but as the sport grew in size and popularity Coach Moriyama had gifted it to his Ravens. If his players weren’t in class or on the court, they were expected to be down here. At first glance, it wasn’t a bad setup. The Nest was spacious and well equipped. Neil noticed two full-sized kitchens, a lounge complete with a bar and pool table, and at least 3 dens with TVs. It was designated as the amenities section or affectionately as the ‘Club House’ by the Ravens. A long hall connected the social quarters to an immaculate weight room, and another hall took them to the dormitory.

Near as he could tell the sleeping quarters were directly beneath the inner court with branch hallways creating ease of access to the varying facilities. The Nest had the potential to be everything a college athlete could want—if you could make it past the low ceilings and depressing decor that is. Color was fleeting, and if it was to be found, showed up only in shades of red.

A sign on the wall indicated ‘Black Hall’ was to the left and ‘Red Hall’ to the right. Neil looked both ways unable to distinguish between the two. It wasn’t worth asking about so he followed Jean into Red. Neil felt a trill of fear as he discovered all the rooms were open, not because the doors were left ajar, but because they lacked them all together.

“Here,” Jean said, and motioned for the shorter boy to follow him into the last room. “This is where you will be staying.”

The first thing Neil catalogued was everything was black, from the furniture to the sheets to the towels draped over the desk chairs to dry. The shadows were sucking the air out of the room and Neil was suddenly keenly aware of the weight of the stadium overhead. He wasn’t claustrophobic, per se, but his mind screamed _trapped._

The second thing Neil noticed was a small picture frame on the occupied desk showing a little girl no older than seven with expressive grey eyes and tight blonde curls. Jean noticed him staring.

“My little sister,” he whispered.

“Is she—?”

“She’s alive,” Jean said, and for once his expression held something other than contempt.

Neil studied the taller boy, no, his roommate. A moment passed between them, some unnamed emotion neither was willing to acknowledge.

“Come, put your things down and let’s go.”

Jean didn’t wait for him but left. Neil dropped his duffel on his new bed, spared a glance for the other side of the room, and caught up with the Frenchman down the hall. A flight of stairs took them up one floor to the Raven’s locker room. He brought Neil to an oversized cubby on the end and opened it. Inside Neil found the locker was already packed with Raven gear. It wasn’t until Jean shoved the jersey at him that Neil understood, because the name emblazoned on the back was JOSTEN.

Neil smiled. “It appears I get to keep my name after all.”

“I was told you made a compelling argument.”  


The roommates turned to face the new voice. Jean flinched before bowing his head in a show of submission.

_Tetsuji Moriyama_

The coach was once again wielding his ornate walking cane. The same one Neil had seen him with prior on the day they came to recruit him. Though Neil still hoped it meant the older man was suffering from an injury or illness of some sort; he knew better. Neil heard a soft click as whomever was behind the coach locked the changing room door. He barely had a second to contemplate why they bothered to install locks when he registered the other person was Riko. Unwilling to be distracted when facing a man of Tetsuji's caliber Neil attempted to refocus.

“Yes, I figured it’d be rather frowned upon to bring the full force of the FBI down on our heads,” Neil explained, “among other things.”

“Indeed, _Nathaniel Wesninski_ ,” He said, like he found every syllable wanting. “Kneel.”

The teen’s heartbeat skipped in anticipation of what would happen next. “Yes, that is the name I chose, Neil. Good of you to remember.”

He thought Jean said his name, but it was barely louder than a puff of air. Neil didn’t look back at him. He didn’t think it was his imagination that Riko took a half-step back to put more space between himself and his uncle. A man who could keep even that sociopath in line wasn’t a man to challenge so carelessly, but Neil had made his choice.

“You will kneel,” Tetsuji commanded.

Neil had a feeling he was going to regret this for the rest of his very short life, but he grinned his father’s smile and said, “Make me.”

The cane flashed catching him across his cheek and the side of his mouth. Neil stumbled under the force of the blow and crashed into the lockers. He didn’t feel it; he couldn’t feel anything but the fire eating through his skull. A tangy flavor across his tongue might have been blood but Neil’s mouth was too numb for him to be sure. He reached up to check, but his Coach’s cane caught him in the ribs next. Then his thigh, and arm, until he had no choice but to curl up to protect his vulnerable middle.

“You wish to emulate your father? Then it’s high time you resembled him. Riko. Jean.”

Dazed, Neil struggled to make sense of what was happening. He felt large hands grasp his now aching body and drag him to another space. From his place on the ground he labored to identify the shower heads before the sharp scent of hair dye hit his nostrils. It was then he began to fight in earnest, lashing out with legs and fists until blessed darkness took over.

Neil woke up shivering on the tile of the shower room floor, still wet from when they must’ve rinsed out the hair dye. He spied his ever present shadow sitting calmly on the floor next to him. Neil gave him his best shit eating grin.

“How do I look?”

Jean disregarded the question. “Try not to get us killed on your first day, you ignorant child.”

“Us?” Neil asked.

“Listen carefully to what I am about to tell you, “ Jean said, thrusting a towel at him. Neil refused to take it, so the taller boy caught hold of his t-shirt and yanked him close. “You lost the right to be an individual when you stepped into the Nest. The consequences of your actions are no longer yours alone to bear. Ravens operate on a pair-based system, which means however long you remain I’m the only ally you have.”

“My success is your success,” Jean continued. “Your failure is my failure. You are to go nowhere unless I am with you. If you break this rule we will both suffer greatly for it. Do you understand? They want us to fail. They want to take starting line-up from me. I will not let you jeopardize my rank.”

“I have some news for you Frenchman,” Neil said. “I have no intentions of failing. A word of warning though, I also have no intentions of letting that psycho break me, like he broke Kevin.”

Jean gasped, “You know.”

Neil nodded, “I know.”  


The taller boy tilted his head, but said nothing. There were no words to describe the level of fucked up this whole situation was but for better or worse they were now in it together.

“Good,” Neil said. “Now one more thing, there will come a time when my mouth gets us into more trouble than usual. When that happens I want you to promise me you’ll run; no playing hero.”

“Fat chance of that, Englishman.” Jean retorted.

A glimmer of optimism rose in the teen at the banter, it wasn’t quite friendship, but he had a feeling if they both managed to survive this summer it could grow into something powerful.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Now try on your gear so we know it fits,” Jean ordered, back to business.

Neil grabbed the stuff from his locker and started towards the bathroom stalls.

“Out here,” the dark haired boy stated.

“Not in front of you,” Neil said.

“That modesty will be the first thing we break you of,” Jean said. “There is no room for privacy in the Nest.”

Neil recalled the distinct lack of doors in the dormitories and repressed a full bodied shudder. “I can’t believe you put up with this, at least Kevin ran. What’s your excuse?”

“I am a Moreau, “ Jean said, as if Neil was being stupid on purpose. “My family has belonged to the Moriyamas since before they came to the United States. There is nowhere else for me to go, just as there is no place for you but here. Kevin is not like us; he is valuable but he is not property in the same way you and I are. He escaped because he had family to run to.”

“Andrew?” Neil guessed, thinking of the way he deferred to him in Millport.

“I said family, you hard-of-hearing imbecile,” Jean said. “His father. The Coach.”

It took a moment to sink in. When it clicked Neil reeled in shock, “What?”

He knew Kevin had to have a father, birds n’ the bees and all that, but he never suspected the coach of PSU to be that man. If rumors were right the space was blank on Kevin’s birth certificate. Kayleigh Day had never given up the name of Kevin's father, no matter how hard the press pushed. She’d named Tetsuji her son’s godfather, though, which was how Kevin ended up at Evermore after she died.

“You’re lying,” Neil denied, but it explained so much.

“Why else would he run to such a dreadful team?”

“Valid point,” Neil agreed, “but he never—their coach hasn’t—”

“Figures he’s still too much of a coward to say anything about it.” Jean gave a derisive flick of his hand. “If you don’t believe me, look for yourself. The last time I saw his mother’s letter it was tucked inside one of those boring books of his. He’s read it so many times he might have worn the words off the pages by now, but it is worth a shot.”

“No, I believe you, but it’s not a bad idea to retrieve it anyway,” Neil said. “If he knew, why did he stay? He should’ve gone to him right away when his mother died.”

“We found out only a few years ago,” Jean said. “We stumbled across the letter in the master’s house purely by accident. Kevin stole it but he never intended to act on the discovery. He knew going meant losing all of this. It wasn’t worth it.” Jean gestured around the locker room. “Once he lost this, of course, there was no reason to stay.”

“You are all insane,” Neil said.

“Says the runaway who joined a Class I team,” Jean chastised. “Says the man who came here today when he should have run. You are no better than the rest of us. Now are you going to try your gear on or am I going to have to force it on you, midget?”

“Touché.” 

“Don’t bastardize my beautiful language you cur,” Jean huffed.

Neil chose to reply in flawless French, “Only if you promise the same with English.”

The look on Jean’s face was priceless; Neil knew he’d caught him by surprise. But the flash of fear was unplaceable. _Why is he afraid of me knowing French?_ Neil wondered.

“You can’t speak it in front of Riko,” Jean whispered. “He hates not understanding.”

Neil thought about it as he grabbed his jersey. “Ok, only when we’re alone or he is out of earshot.”

Jean folded his arms over his chest and took a couple steps back, but a twitch of his lips gave away his delight. Neil turned the jersey over in his hands to look at his name. The white letters were surrounded by a faint red outline. The number beneath wasn’t his.

“I can’t even keep my ten?” Neil asked.

“Unimportant Ravens wear double-digits,” Jean explained. “Riko’s inner circle does not. This number suits you better. Did you know? In Japanese, ‘four’ and ‘death’ sound the same. It seems appropriate the Butcher’s son should wear this number. How does it feel?”

“What?”

“The target on your back?” Jean asked.

“Familiar,” Neil said.

Dropping the jersey in his locker again, Neil steeled his resolve, and ripped his hoodie over his head in one quick motion. He tried to ignore the intent look Jean raked across his scarred torso as he put the Raven uniform on piece by piece as fast as he could. It fit him better than he expected it to, but it somehow chaffed him.

While Jean joined him in donning his gear, Neil took a second to scrutinize his ‘new’ look. Neil had died his hair from time to time, but never this shade, never anywhere near this shade. This was his natural color, and those were his real eyes, and this was his father’s face. The bruising from Tetsuji’s cane did nothing to disguise the man he’d seen in the mirror.

“Breathe,” Jean told him.

Neil didn’t realize he’d stopped until Jean used his fist to pound the air back into his lungs with a firm thump to his back. Neil clawed at the edge of the sink choking on the first breath and gritted his teeth against a cry he didn’t dare voice. It hurt to breathe but he did it anyway. Too late to turn back now.  In tune with Neil's resolve Jean ushered him along through the back door to the outer court. They emerged near the home bench.  It didn't come as a shock to Neil to see all the Ravens present and accounted for despite it being the start summer vacation

“Don't you wankers believe in rest and recovery?” Neil asked, still a bit breathless after his breakdown.

Jean waved an arm to encompass the scrimmage taking place. Heads turned as the two boys stepped up alongside the armored line not participating. The Ravens looked past Jean to Neil. Their expressions ranged from cold disinterest to open hostility. Neil wasn’t expecting a warm welcome, so he kept his attention on the court.

The scrimmage was brutal. Two line-ups in full gear were savagely tearing each other apart while the remaining nine Ravens watched. It wasn’t long before the buzzer sounded and called an end to the match. Riko’s team won by a three-point margin. The two lineups met at half-court to critique their performances joined by the subs who shared their own observations from the outside. It lasted a good fifteen minutes until finally the Ravens clacked sticks and filed off the court.

Riko pulled his helmet off as he stepped though the door. “Luke, close down the scoreboard. Martin, get the water bottles. I have our newest member to attend to, so take an early lunch. The master will be joining us out here shortly. Afternoon practice will start at the usual time.”

The ravens moved like a black river around Jean and Neil. Riko stopped in front of the redhead to consider his new appearance, but summarily dismissed him in favor of Jean. “Get him warmed up. The master will be by soon to run him through some evaluations. I will deal with him after I’ve eaten something.”

Jean inclined his head and held the door open for the other boy. Riko went one way, while Jean and Neil went another. The taller boy led him to the inner court and took off at a jog. With nothing else to do, Neil ran to catch up.

**-POV Shift-**

Jean watched through the plexiglass as the master and Riko put the new kid through his paces. He was unsure what to think of the redhead. Neil was someone who shouldn’t be alive, let alone at Castle Evermore playing Exy. Jean learned the hard way the Moriyamas had zero tolerance for defiance and yet, this boy was the living, breathing poster child for it. The term _full of piss and vinegar_ came to mind.

The tall backliner rubbed his aching ribs where the feisty redhead had kicked them earlier when being dragged to the showers. Jean cast his mind back to Neil’s marred skin and felt something stirring in his chest. This kid who had as many scars, if not more, was somehow all the stronger for it. _Could he be the one to finally survive this hellhole?_ Jean asked himself, but no, those were dangerous thoughts. 

The sharp crack of the master’s cane hitting tender flesh brought his attention back to the court. Jean could see, even from his spot on the sidelines, white teeth flash in a feral grin before the teen retook his place on the first-court line. Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away as Riko sprinted from the far-court intent on scoring. His breath caught as he witnessed Neil flatten Riko to the ground in a barely legal tackle.

The redhead scooped up the loose ball and threw it with enough force into the opposing goal the sensors lit up red. Neil then pivoted and said something to the younger Moriyama which caused him to come up swinging. Jean flinched as Riko’s racquet smashed into Neil’s helmet but the kid didn’t go down so Riko swung again, this time catching him in the knee. Still, he stood his ground, but before the third strike could land the racquet was knocked from his grip with an unforgiving hit from the master’s cane.

Jean couldn’t hear what was said but had only a second to scramble towards the door to get it open before Riko tore through. 

“Your turn,” he spat in harsh Japanese.

The backliner gave him ample room and strode onto the inner court just in time to hear the master say something to Neil.

“You want to score so bad?” Tetsuji growled. “Then try it again, only this time with an actual opponent. You have 30 seconds to switch out your racquet and take your place at half court.”

Jean gave the master a respectful bow when he passed him and then fell into step with the teen as he went to change out his racquet.

“What did you say?”

Icy blue eyes stared back as he spit blood onto the hard floor uncaring some splattered the grating covering his mouth. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Don’t be obtuse," Jean snapped. "Just now.”

The resulting smirk caused Jean to take a step back, “I told him Kevin would’ve scored.”

“ _Merde_ , do you have a death wish?” he asked.

“That would be telling,” Neil responded and stepped around him to take his place for the next drill.

Shaking his head Jean went to take his own place on the line and set about doing his best to defend the goal. He lost track of time as the master kept feeding the teen balls until he called a halt. The backliner was surprised to find he was out of breath. 

“That’s enough for now, I’ve seen what I needed to,” the master said, in smooth Japanese. “Get him cleaned up and be back here for afternoon practice.”

Jean waited until the master was out of sight before taking off his helmet and approaching the teen.

“The master said—”

“I know what he said,” Neil interrupted.

“You know Japanese,” Jean stated, skeptical. “Then why did you pretend not to understand?”

Neil’s flat look made him feel like he was missing something. “Because people are more likely to let things slip when they think you don't know what they're saying.”

“I could tell on you,” Jean said. 

Neil cocked his head in contemplation,  “But you won’t.”

Jean's bluff had been called but he couldn’t resist asking, “Why not?”

“Because you hate them just as much as I do,” Neil declared, “perhaps more.”

Jean was startled when a laugh escaped him.

“It’s a good look for you, smiling,” Neil said and walked away calling over his shoulder. “You should do it more often.”

The taller boy froze and brought a trembling hand to his mouth feeling the remnants of a laugh on his face. For the first time in many years he felt a spark of something other than fear, _hope_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I toyed for a long time whether I wanted to include other character's POV besides Andrew and Neil. As you see, I ultimately decided in favor of it. I love Jean and he will play a major role in this story because he deserves better. Plus my psych minor is dying to tear into him and see how he works. A lot of this chapter was taken directly from 'The Raven King' when Neil travels there for winter break. I obviously added and twisted things to suit my plot line, but if some of the wording seems familiar that's why. Can you spot the differences? As always, I'd love to hear from you. Kudos are great, but I love reading comments even more. Drop in and say hello, I'm dying to know what you think.


	5. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An important phone call and a dark numbers game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains mention/description of Rape/Non-con and suicide please read at your own risk. If you'd like to skip it don't read anything after the POV shift. Also, warning for Andrew's mouth. He loves his swear words.

Andrew took a long drag of his cigarette trapping the acrid smoke in his lungs until the need to breathe took over. He absently watched as the white trail lazily drifted upward before gazing down at his current charge.

Kevin Day was pure stubbornness as he smashed his precious exy ball into the plexiglass over and over again in an attempt to regain dexterity. The blonde passively observed him from his place in the stands. The striker had long since given up trying to persuade Andrew to join him after growing frustrated with his lack of effort. Not a word of protest passed Andrew's lips when Kevin ultimately got fed up and ordered him off the court.  It was amusing how Kevin was convinced someday Andrew would change his mind on his own accord, _fucking junkie._

Andrew was suddenly reminded of a similarly afflicted Exy junkie prompting him to pull out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. If asked why he finally upgraded to a smart phone he’d vehemently deny it was to keep an eye out for said Exy junkie. Andrew opened up the internet search bar and navigated to the Edgar Allan website. There was one new post.

**‘Ravens Announce Final Line-up for Upcoming Season’** ****

Andrew scrolled down almost missing the familiar name due to the not so familiar face. The boy in the picture hardly resembled the mousy kid they tried to recruit back in bum-fuck-nowhere Arizona. The blonde had a hunch this makeover might have something to do with the kid's cryptic comment concerning Kevin a month back.

Contemplating the auburn hair and ice blue eyes Andrew felt the beginnings of interest stir despite the veil of fake euphoria created by his pills. Even in Millport when the kid did his best to blend in, he stood out, more so now with his coloring. Andrew had to repress the sudden desire to run his fingers through the fringe to see if it was as soft as it looked. They’d left it a little longer on top and it fell in loose waves across the kid’s forehead; the sides shaved clean.

A slamming door signaled Kevin was at last finished with his evening practice. Andrew shoved his phone away into the depths of his front pocket and slowly ambled toward the locker room. He waited for the striker to shower on the obnoxious orange couch in the foyer. After debating it for a second, Andrew sent a text to Wymack instructing him to meet them at Abby’s.

The blonde was tempted to light up another cigarette as Kevin babbled the whole way across the parking lot concerning the upcoming season and how if Andrew only 'tried' he could make Court one day. Andrew could give two shits about the stupid sport but it was amusing to toy with the other boy. There was something strangely powerful building Kevin's hope up only to take it away with one word, no. It was the closest thing to fun Andrew had in years. He tuned the other boy out as they clambered into the GS and pulled away from the stadium.

“Wait, this isn’t the way back to the dorms,” Kevin observed.

Andrew ignored him and slotted the car into the only open space on the driveway. Not bothering to wait for the striker Andrew climbed out of the driver’s seat and entered the house without knocking. Abigail Winfield lived in a one-story ranch about five minutes from campus. It was modest in size, with a sort of southern charm. His family, plus Kevin, had stayed there earlier in the summer while the dorms were closed. Andrew found the two adults waiting in the kitchen; Wymack looked up at his entrance.

“What’s this all about Minyard? It’s a bit late for a house call don’t ya think?”

“I thought you might want to be here for when Kevin has a mental breakdown,” Andrew replied. “Unless I’m mistaken.” The blonde knew very well Wymack would never leave when one of his players needed him.

“Ok you have my attention,” the coach said, refusing to acknowledge Kevin’s token protests in the background.

“You seen the latest article on our favorite little birdies?” Andrew asked while hopping up onto the counter.

It took Wymack a second to comprehend before he pulled out his own phone to do exactly what Andrew had done only an hour earlier.

“What?” Kevin asked, still confused. “Why would I freak out? Did something happen to Riko?”

“What the hell?” Wymack swore, distracted enough he didn’t notice the striker reaching for his phone.

Andrew surveyed Kevin’s face carefully, awaiting a reaction. What he got didn’t disappoint, to say the least. Kevin froze and his breathing halted while he stared down in abject horror at the screen.

“He—,” Kevin began, “it can’t be. He should be d-dead.”

“Wait, what?” Wymack asked. “I mean I know he looks different, but it’s clearly Neil.”

Kevin backed away, eyes unerringly transfixed on the photo, “It’s not—that’s not Neil.”

“I’m looking right at the caption Kevin. It says Neil Josten in black and white,” Wymack stated.

The striker’s mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to form words, “Nath-Nathaniel, his name is Nathaniel.”

“Ok so the kid likes to shorten his name, big deal. What’s the fuck is wrong with you? Are you sick or something?” 

"Language David," Abby chastised.

Andrew looked on as his charge spiraled into a full blown panic attack. Abby reacted first by guiding the larger boy to sit on the ground with his head between his legs. Wymack was a step behind her with a hand to Kevin's neck. While they struggled to get the striker's breathing under control Andrew recalled the soft press of a pen against his hand. 

Andrew pulled out his phone and dialed. 

“Hello?” a slightly accented voice answered. 

“Neil Josten?”

A beat of silence, and then a hesitant, “Andrew?”

“I expect answers, but whatever the fuck you were referring to, it’s happening.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll call you right back. I can’t—, this isn’t the most secure location and I”m not allowed—”

“Don’t care Josten, just know I’ll continue calling all hours of the day until you get caught if you don’t hold up your end.”

The soft snick of a phone closing was his response. A short while later Andrew’s phone vibrated indicating an incoming call.”

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of And—”

“Give him the phone,” Neil interrupted, assertively.

“I’m putting you on speaker,” Andrew warned.

“Whatever,” came the dismissive reply.

The blonde jumped down off the counter and made his way to the trio tossing the phone into Kevin’s lap, startling him.

“What the fuck Minyard?” coach yelled. It was quickly followed by an exasperated sigh from Abby, but she chose not to acknowledge the foul word choice and instead focused on her 'patient' .

Andrew locked eyes with Kevin’s wide green ones, “Talk.”

“H-hello?” Kevin asked cautiously.

A flurry of French resulted in a flicker of annoyance penetrating Andrew’s artificial high. He made a decision then and there to learn the fucking language as soon as possible. The switch back to English caught his attention.

“How are you alive?” Kevin asked.

“It’s a long story,” Neil said, “and not something I’d like to share with the class.”

“Ok, but why there? Why would you willing put yourself into their hands? You of all people should know what they are capable of." The incredulity was obvious in Kevin's voice.

A soft chuckle, “Of course I know.”

“Then why?” Kevin asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

“I was tired of running,” Neil answered.

“But your Mom, she—”

“Doesn’t matter anymore.”

“But—” Kevin attempted to interject again.

“No, I’m through talking about this. What’s done is done.” 

“I-I don’t understand,” Kevin said.

“Listen up, I’m only going to say this bloody once,” the teen warned hotly. “You paying attention?”

Kevin nodded as if the other kid could see him through the phone but it didn’t matter, Neil caught the drift.

“My mother is dead,” the teen began. “I had a choice. I could continue running for the rest of my life or I could try to take it back. I chose the latter.”

Andrew noticed the small hitch in Neil's voice at the mention of his mother’s death. _Someone’s got mommy issues,_ he thought.

“It had to be Edgar Allan,” Neil continued. “I'm not going to lie and say they were my first choice, but of all my plans it was the one with the highest probability of me coming out alive. My mother's debts are now mine to pay and I plan to do just that without putting any more innocent people at risk. When I saw the news you left, I considered following. You always were the better player, regardless of the number on your cheek.” 

Kevin flinched and subconsciously rubbed at the tattoo. Andrew thought it sounded more like an insult than a compliment.

“Ultimately it was your friendly game against the Swedish national team that decided it for me,” the not-rabbit said.

At Kevin’s silence, Neil went on to explain. “There were 35 seconds left on the clock. It was a tie game due to an unusual amount of penalties. You were wide open in front of the net and instead of taking the shot, you turned your back on the goal and passed it to Riko. Fortunately he scored but you had the better angle.”

“What does that have to do with—?” Kevin tried asking.

“If I can’t trust you to make the game winning shot, how can I possibly trust you with my back?” Neil asked. It was very clearly a rhetorical question, but effective nevertheless.

The taller boy wilted and somehow managed to curl further in on himself from his position on the floor letting out a wounded noise.

“I think we’re done here,” Neil said, ignoring Kevin’s distress.

“Jean,” the striker squeaked out, “is he—”

Andrew was taken aback by the amount of venom coming from the other end of the phone line. It was once again in French, pissing him off, at least as much as the medication allowed. Whatever Neil was saying tore into Kevin worse than any knife ever could; he was full on sobbing now.

Bending down Andrew reacquired his cell, putting it to his ear and exiting the kitchen, “Not-rabbit.”

A sigh and then, “I won’t apologize so don’t waste your breath.”

“I want nothing from you,” Andrew replied.

“Good,” Neil said, “I’m not sure I have anything left to give.”

Andrew discerned a quiet murmur of French in the background, but the only person he knew at Edgar Allan who spoke the language besides Kevin was the boy who taught it to him. _Was the hulking backliner with him?_ Andrew wondered, curious again at the truth of the whole Raven partner thing.

“This was not what I had in mind when you gave me your number.”

Neil laughed and a curl of heat pooled in Andrew’s belly at the sound. “Me either, to be honest.”

“You? Honest?” Andrew said, emotionlessly. “What do you take me for?”

“A sucker for lost causes,” Neil answered hitting a little too close to home.

“I’ll be in touch.” 

“Goodnight, Andrew,” the teen said and the blonde felt the uncomfortable warmth once again at hearing Neil say his name. _Was that a British accent?_ He asked himself, returning once more to the kitchen stopping just in front of Kevin’s feet.

“Well?”

“Andrew, have some sympath—” Abby tried.

“Finish that sentence and you know me even less than I thought,” Andrew interrupted. “Get up Kevin we’re going for a drive.”

It took a minute for his words to register, but the striker painstakingly regained his feet. Abby made an aborted move to hold him back but Wymack interfered. 

“Let him go,” he whispered.

"Wise choice coach," Andrew said with false cheer. He gave a mock salute and none too gently herded Kevin out of the house.

Once more ensconced in the vehicle, Andrew peeled away from the driveway and headed toward the interstate.

“You want to tell me what that was about or should I guess?” Andrew asked, glancing at the dark haired boy beside him.

“I—”

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to make a statement and all you need to do is tell me yes or no.”

Kevin nodded.

“I’m driving shithead, use your words.”

“Yes.”

“Great,” Andrew began. “You knew Neil from before.”

“Yes.”

“His family is in some way connected to the Moriyamas.”

“Yes.”

“He was on the run with this mother.”

“Yes.”

“You recognized him back in Millport.”

“Ye—, No.”

“Good because if you did, we’d have an issue,” Andrew stated.

“I didn’t know, I swear—”

“Idiot, I was testing you. Now, I have a few questions and I think it goes without saying you know the consequences if you lie.” Andrew managed to flick one of his knives out without once taking his eyes from the road, the effect was immediate.

“Jesus Andrew, I get it.”

“So then, how do you know him? Was he at Evermore?”

Kevin swallowed audibly, “No, that is, not in the same way Riko and I were. He was brought to be evaluated.”

“In what way?”

“To see if he had the potential as a worthy investment,” the striker described. “We were only kids then. Nathaniel, sorry, Neil couldn’t have been more than ten years old at the time.”

Andrew studied the other boy, “You said Nathaniel, the kid have a last name?”

Kevin shuddered, “Wesninski.”

“Sounds Polish, what’s a Wesninski?” Andrew asked.

“It’s easier if I just explain what happened,” Kevin started. “When Nath-Neil showed up we were just so happy to have another kid our age to play with. He was talented and enthusiastic; perfect.”

“So what happened?”

“Did you know there was someone stupid enough to make an attempt on Riko’s life?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow, “So? I wouldn’t mind a shot at the bastard myself.”

“They caught him that day, when N-Neil was there,” Kevin expounded. “The three of us were brought to East Tower with no explanation. When we walked through the door there was a man on his knees in the middle of the room, a large sheet of plastic beneath him.”

Andrew could guess where this was going.

“He was used as an example to show us, show Riko, what happens to those who cross the Moriyamas. They tore him to pieces with a dull axe right there in front of us.”

“How does Neil fit in to all of this?”

Kevin blanched, “It was his father that did it.”

Andrew called to mind his first encounter with Neil and how the boy instinctively retreated when Wymack approached. He had a sickening feeling he knew why.

“What happened next?”

“I threw up all over the carpet and then we were dismissed from the room,” Kevin said. “We were expected to return to the court, so we did.”

“And Neil?”

“Acted perfectly normal. I remember he asked me something unusual though,” the striker recalled. “He asked me why I wasn’t punished for making a mess, genuinely puzzled. I can still picture his flat eyes as he watched, unflinching, as his own father murdered that man. I’ll never forget them, twin chips of ice. It’s how I recognized him in that photo.”

“So what, then his mother took him and ran?”

“Yes,” Kevin affirmed. “Neil was supposed to stay one more day to complete the evaluations, but his mother somehow found out what the price was for failure.”

“Let me guess, a painful death?”

“I was told if the mast-Tetsuji didn’t find him worthy, he’d be given to his father to be executed. It wasn’t until later we found out his mother had taken nearly five million in assets and spirited him away in the middle of the night.”

Andrew thought for a second, “I take it that didn’t go over well.”

“No, Tetsuji bore the brunt of the anger from the main branch,” Kevin declared. “It was considered a major insult having a woman and child escape from right underneath his nose, his so-called castle, and not empty handed either.”

“And that brings us to present day, Neil’s mother died and he decided he’d rather risk an early death than continue looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life,” Andrew finished.

“But that’s what I don’t get,” Kevin said. “Even if he’s talented at Exy, it doesn’t explain why they let him live.”

The car fell into a heavy silence as both young men were lost inside the confines of their own minds. Kevin trying to shake the memories of his time at Castle Evermore and Andrew trying to put together the puzzle that was ‘Neil Josten’ nee ‘Nathaniel Wesninski’ through the manic high gripping him tight. 

_This was a problem_ , Andrew concluded. Neil Josten was a conundrum and the blonde felt an uncontrollable itch to solve him.

**-POV shift-**

Jean winced in sympathy as he pulled another stitch tight on the gash in Neil’s thigh. Riko was in a bad mood all week for whatever reason and per usual took it out on his favorite pieces of property. He’d originally gone for him, but the little redheaded devil made a snide comment about ‘a cry for daddy’s attention’ and that was it, Jean was all but forgotten. _Fucking martyr,_ he thought.

Said boy was doing his best to muffle his noises of discomfort, staring dispassionately at the wall of their room.

“Distract me,” Neil requested.

Jean contemplated for a moment, “two-hundred and sixty-six.”

“What’s that?”

“The number of stitches I’ve had since coming here,” Jean answered, avoiding knowing blue eyes.

“That supposed to make me feel better?” the redhead asked, sardonically.

Jean huffed and stabbed the needle a little harder than necessary.

“Fuck Frenchie, easy on the goods,” Neil teased.

"Fourteen.”

“Huh?" Jean asked distractedly as he tied off another stitch.

“The number of men my mom let into her bed to keep their mouths shut, or in return for a favor,” Neil stated matter of factly and then threw out another number. “Six.”

The grey eyed boy raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

“The number of men my mom let take me to bed for the same reasons.”

Jean’s hand twitched in surprise drawing a hiss of pain from the boy on the bed. “ _Merde_ , Neil—”

A soft touch to the back of his hand, “It’s fine Jean, I’m fine.”

Whether Neil actually believed that or not didn’t matter, it’s what you tell yourself so it doesn’t eat you up inside. Jean knew that very well. A heavy silence settled as he finished putting his partner back together. When he was done Jean set the med kit aside and looked up at the redhead with a question in his eyes.

“Get up here you great brute,” Neil ordered and then scooted forward so Jean could slot in behind him.

The Frenchman pulled the other boy backwards so his chest was flush against him. They sat there for a minute taking what they could from the comforting touch, unused to human contact which wasn’t associated with pain.

“How old?” Jean whispered.

“The first time or the last time?” Neil asked.

“Both.”

“I was eleven the first time, we were at the border crossing for Canada,” Neil started. “My mom spent a large chunk our money obtaining a ‘clean’ vehicle so we were a bit short on cash until we could sell some more government bonds. Her contact at the border had a penchant for prepubescent boys and agreed to knock ten grand off the price if my mom would let him ‘play’ with me for an hour.”

“She agreed,” Jean said, in disbelief. 

“She made a compelling argument,” Neil said.

Jean swore under his breath in French, “And the last time?”

“Shortly before her death we were nearly caught in Colorado by an ambitious police officer who got lucky pulling us over for a broken tail light. He wasn’t interested in our money, but gave a sob story about how it was so hard to fulfill his needs as part of law enforcement. Something about the amount of scrutiny he was under made it difficult to procure young boys. As to the rest, well I’ll leave it to your imagination,” Neil said. “I was newly seventeen. I supposed my cursed young looks were good for something I guess.”

“But that’s only—“ Jean said, haltingly, “why didn’t you fight back?”

“For the same reason I imagine you learned not to here,” Neil said, somehow managing to ascertain Jean’s own plight. “How old were you?”

Jean hugged Neil a little tighter and he felt a reassuring squeeze on his knee where Neil’s arms were resting. “I was sixteen the first time. Riko had gotten bored with the usual methods of punishment and wanted to try something new.”

“ _Salaud_ ,” Neil swore in French.

Jean nodded into the redhead’s neck and mumbled his words against the soft skin of his throat. “He never did it himself, the idea of gay relations too repulsive. It had been drilled into his head any scandal, especially of that nature, would be harmful to his reputation as a pro athlete. So he found a way around it by ordering others to do it instead.”

“But…” Neil prompted.

“But he liked to watch,” the taller boy said. “Sometimes he’d get off on telling them what to do. Touch him there. Cut him here, you know—”

“I wish I didn’t.”

“Me too,” Jean said softly. “I fought back at first. I was just so angry when I got here, convinced myself it was temporary. Oh, how wrong I was. On the fifth time, I-I just let him into my bed without a word or token protest, and that was apparently _boring as fuck,_ so Riko didn’t orchestrate a sixth demonstration.”

“Are any of them still here?”

“Who?” Jean asked.

“The _putains_ who assaulted you?”

Not sure how it mattered, Jean answered honestly, “Engle and Reacher.”

Neil was silent and the taller boy feared he’d passed out from blood loss, but when he craned his head to look a cold fury had gripped the redhead turning his eyes a frigid blue.

“There’s nothing you can do Neil, it’s not worth it,” Jean began. “I’m not worth it.”

The Frenchman was startled when he suddenly found himself with a lapful of furious redhead. Neil’s eyes for all their coldness, burned.

“You ever say those words again and I’ll gut you myself,” Neil said in rapid French. “You are worth more than all those bastards combined. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes,” Jean stammered, replying in the same language.

His partner tilted his head inquisitively, “Do you want to die?”

The backliner went rigid, eyes widening. 

“I noticed they don’t let you have even a butter knife with your meals and I doubt it’s for the same reason they restrict me,” Neil stated. “If you do, want to die that is, I can help. I know at least a half a dozen ways to kill you without a weapon.”

Instead of being repulsed by the offer, Jean was comforted. This was a boy who knew his own mind and stared unflinching, accepting of the darkest recesses of Jean’s. However ugly, however tainted, the redhead took it in stride. 

“If you had asked me three months ago, the answer would’ve been unequivocally, yes.”

“And now?”

“Now I’ve got myself a mouthy little devil for a partner whose ability to attract danger is bigger than he is,” Jean said.

“Hey ease up on the short jokes, alright?” Neil whined. “It’s not my bloody fault all my mother’s family are vertically challenged.”

And just like that Jean felt as if a huge burden was lifted. He knew there’d be bad days and good days, but as long as Neil was there to remind him he mattered, he might just make it until graduation.

Neil leaned forward hovering over Jean’s head, at his nod, he placed a gentle kiss into his hair before returning to his original position between his legs.

“Tell me about Marseille.”

So Jean did. He talked about the legendary mistral blowing; of winds so harsh they cool your bones in winter and raise dust in summer. He talked of sitting on the docks in peak season listening to the fisherman call out their hauls as they pulled into the quay and the soaring heights of the basilica at _Notre-Dam de la Garde_ until his voice grew hoarse and Neil’s breath evened out in sleep. If he tugged him a little closer, no one was the wiser.

They were rudely awoken in the middle of the night by a sharp buzzing in the mattress. Neil jolted out of his arms and began searching for the source of the noise. He pulled out an old style flip phone from what must be a hole cut into the bed. 

“Hello?” Neil paused. “Andrew?”

“Give me a minute, I’ll call you right back. I can’t—, this isn’t the most secure location and I'm not allowed—” Neil stammered and then snapped the phone shut.

“Wha—”

“I don’t have time to explain, follow me,” Neil said before turning on his heel, phone held in a death grip.

Jean followed. Neil led them through the catacombs of the Nest, the red glow giving a sinister vibe to their journey, until they reached a secured door. The redhead never paused putting in the code and pulling it open noiselessly. It was a door Jean was startled realize he didn’t have the security clearance for and knew with certainty Neil shouldn’t either.

“Where are we? Are we—?”

“East Tower.”

“How?” Jean asked incredulously.

“Later, I promise,” Neil said and flipped open the phone again.

Jean knew he would keep his promise, like he’d kept all his other ones over the summer. His willingness to draw attention away from Jean, to work himself into the ground learning the eight Raven precision drills even faster than Riko just to prevent his partner from being punished; Neil was good for it.

The backliner listened attentively as he spoke to someone on the other line. Jean was caught off guard as he heard Kevin’s name. A cold fury swept through him at knowing he was still alive and outside of the Nest, safe with his family, even if they didn’t know it. Something must’ve shown in his expression for Neil gazed at him and lowered the phone from his ear changing the audio to speaker mode.

Jean gave him a small smile of gratitude. Neil was laying himself bare recounting his decision to stop running and tearing into Kevin for his cowardice. Another male voice eventually took over and Jean realized it must be Kevin’s self appointed protecter, the younger Minyard twin.

“…I’m not sure I have anything left to give,” Neil finished. 

Jean spoke a quiet reassurance, in French, to which his roommate gave a grateful nod. Shortly after Andrew Minyard took over, Neil hung up, his face half in shadows from the moonlight filtering through the windows, his eyes practically glowing.

“I—” he began, but Jean hushed him.

“That’s enough excitement for one night I think, you can tell me in the morning.”

The look of relief on Neil’s face was reward enough for delaying the talk. Jean held out his hand and waited for his partner’s response. He wasn’t disappointed when the redhead let out a small chuckle and placed his smaller hand in his, giving a gentle squeeze. 

“Mother hen,” Neil teased.

“Drama queen,” Jean replied and then they descended, side by side, back into the bowels of the Nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French to English Translations  
> Salaud=Bastard  
> Merde=Shit  
> Putain=Whore  
> 


	6. Tattoos and Texts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew gets a piece of unexpected information and Neil becomes part of a matching set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Panic attacks, canon-typical violence, and of course lots of swearing

Andrew woke early to the short buzz of his phone indicating a new text. He reached blindly for where it was charging on his nightstand. They were in Columbia for the weekend letting off some much needed steam after the revelation of a very much alive _Nathaniel Wesninski_. Andrew tapped the screen to wake it.

**1 New Message**   
**From: Unknown Number**

It could only be from one person his mind supplied as he sat up. The message was simple, _‘ **The Ravens are flying south.'**_

Before he could think better of it he hit reply, **_'T_ _hanks for the warning, could you be any more cryptic?’_**

Andrew was downstairs doctoring up his coffee when his phone buzzed again. **_‘I could try, but word on the street is you have that particular gift coined already.’_**

 _Snarky bastard_ , Andrew thought. _If anyone was dramatic it was Kevin, or maybe Nicky._

He was about to type back when another message came in. _**‘We got lucky last week. That kind of unexpected call can’t happen again. Text first next time.’**_

Andrew paused at reading ‘next time’. Did he want to talk with the problematic redhead again? _Yes_ , came the startling realization. 

The blonde remembered the teen’s frantic voice before he hung up that first time. It wasn't his problem nor was he concerned, but it was another piece to add to the ever growing puzzle which made up Neil Josten. Andrew had a few more questions to ask Kevin concerning the Nest whenever the alcoholic decided to rise from the dead.

Andrew took a sip of his sugary sweet drink and stepped outside to make a call.

“Coach,” he greeted.

“Minyard, to what do I owe this lovely wakeup call? Thought your lot was headed to Columbia this weekend. Shouldn’t you be passed out somewhere?”

“Haha very funny coach,” Andrew replied. “When were you going to tell the rest of us Edgar Allan is transferring districts?”

A short silence followed by several curse words and a loud banging. “Fuck, how did you find out?”

“A little birdie told me.”

“Josten,” Wymack guessed.

“We have an agreement him and I, but I’d prefer if you kept that under wraps,” Andrew warned.

“Message received Minyard, don’t worry I have no intentions of touching that kid’s issues with a ten-foot pole. Something tells me he’s even worse than all y’all combined,” Wymack mused aloud.

“You’re stalling,” Andrew accused.

“I was planning to tell Kevin once the approval goes through, but we both know it’s inevitable,” Wymack confessed. “They practically are the ERC.”

“I should be there,” Andrew said.

“Huh?”

“You'll want me there when you tell him,” the blonde clarified. “Kevin has innumerable issues where Riko is concerned. Have to keep up my end of the bargain even if it means protecting the kid from himself. I’d suggest doing it sooner rather than later.”

“Noted,” Wymack said.

“Hope you have enough vodka to keep the demons at bay,” Andrew cautioned.

“Me too kid, me too.” 

Andrew set down his phone and lit another cigarette contemplating what it would mean for their team having the Ravens to contend with. A small thrill of anticipation went through him before dissipating as quickly as the morning fog.

Another couple weeks went by as the Foxes attempted to prep for the upcoming fall season. Danielle ‘Dan’ Wilds was in full captain mode, shouting orders this way and that trying to get their fractured group to resemble a functioning team. Kevin was, as usual, taking out his frustration on any target within earshot. He was especially hard on their last minute recruit, some homophobic asshole out of Jersey, named Dallas of all things on account of his parent’s being big Cowboys fans. Andrew rested his racquet across his shoulders and settled in for a good show.

They were doing some semblance of an offensive exercise where Nicky and Aaron were situated at first-court with Kevin and the new kid at the half-court line prepping to attack the goal. At Wymack’s whistle Andrew acted as dealer from his place in the home goal and slammed the ball to the other end of the court. They took off.

New kid reached the ball first. He only had it for two seconds before Aaron appeared out of nowhere. He smashed their racquets together so hard the ball popped one way and Dallas’s racquet the other. New kid swore at the sharp pain. Andrew grinned.

“Keep count,” Kevin said before going after the ball. 

Nicky tried to fend Kevin off, but Kevin faked him out and scored a few seconds later. Andrew, who should have been guarding the goal, was using his oversized racquet as a prop still. He looked over his shoulder as the goal lines lit up red but didn’t react otherwise.

“You could at least try,” Kevin said.

Andrew thought about it, then said, “I could, couldn’t I? Maybe next time!”

Nicky retrieved the ball and tossed it to Andrew, who caught it with his goalie glove. The four set up to go again, and Andrew started them off with another vicious serve. This time Kevin jogged to meet Aaron, leaving the new kid to get past Nicky. New kid ran for the ball and Nicky fell in alongside him on his way by. As soon as Dallas was close enough to catching the ball that body-checking was a legal move, Nicky slammed into him full force. The kid stumbled, off-balance, and ground his racquet into the floor to stop himself from tripping over his own feet. Nicky caught the ball and threw it right over his head to be intercepted by Kevin. Andrew watched as Kevin scored again.

“What’s Andrew doing?” Dallas asked.

“Nothing,” Aaron said, as simple as it was obvious, and they set up for another serve.

At the fifteen-minute mark, Kevin threw his racquet down and approached Andrew at the net. 

“Are you even trying?”

The blonde shrugged.

“Get out. Get out right now.”

Andrew heard his cousin yell ‘thank god’ before making a run for the door. Andrew chose to give the striker a mock salute that he knew he hated and then leisurely made his way off the court. After Andrew showered and changed back into his casual street clothes he returned to watch the remainder of practice. Wymack had already abandoned them to their own devices.

Kevin was putting the new kid through hell. He had Renee stand in goal and fed him balls until the other striker swung and lost his grip on his racquet. Andrew laughed as it clattered against the ground and skidded toward the goal. Renee knocked the ball harmlessly up court, much too kind to do what Andrew would’ve done, which was fling it right back at the kid. 

The ex-Raven’s face was a storm cloud of disappointment mingled with righteous anger. Before it got too far Andrew once more stepped on the court. He approached the kid, Dallas, who was now struggling to pick up his racket but didn’t have the strength. Andrew placed one foot on top.

“You done?”

The kid attempted to slide it out from under him, but it didn’t budge.

“Can you or cant you?” Andrew asked.

Defeated the kid mumbled, “I’m done, now get off my racquet.”

Andrew stared down at him remembering his rude comment to Nicky earlier in the week, “Make me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Such fierce words from such a pathetic creature,” Andrew said. “You’re not very bright. Typical of a jock.”

“Hypocrite,” Dallas replied.

Andrew gave him a thumps-up and pushed Kevin toward the exit, “Come on coach wants to see us.”

Properly motivated Kevin started to move under his own power.

“What does he want? It isn’t about late night practices is it?” the striker rambled. “You know I need the extra work—”

Andrew tuned him out. He dropped off his brother and cousin at the dorms before driving across campus to Wymack’s apartment. The complex where Wymack lived was a twenty-minute drive from the airport. The parking lot was mostly empty, since it was mid-afternoon on a workday. The two boys rode the elevator up to the seventh floor in silence but the blonde could feel the tension radiating off Kevin in waves. 

Coach’s unit was number 724. Andrew gave a pathetic excuse for a knock before pulling out his own illegally acquired key and sliding it into the lock. The door opened into the living room where a battered couch and equally worn out coffee table dominated the center of the space. The only clean surface was the couch itself, every other flat surface was laden with empty coffee cups and paperwork.

"I see you still haven't learned about personal boundaries Andrew," Wymack said as he came around the corner.

“What’s all this about?” Kevin asked.

“I think you should sit down for this son,” Wymack suggested.

Andrew noticed the way Kevin twitched at the word ‘son’. 

“I’m fine, let’s just get this over with. I need to review the game film from last March and could use a nap before evening practice.”

“Suit yourself,” Wymack said and without preamble dropped the bomb. “Edgar Allan put in a transfer request with the ERC and it was approved this morning. They’re part of the southeastern district effective immediately.”

It took a minute for Wymack’s words to sink in, but then Kevin exploded into action. Andrew blocked his way.

“I warned you he was going to come for me. I told you!”

“Damn it, Kevin, this is why I told you to sit down,” Wymack said.

“I won’t,” Kevin shot back his voice twisted with fear and panic. “How could you let him do this?”

“I don’t have any say in this and you know it. Hey!”

Kevin tried to make a break for it again so Andrew slammed him hard against the wall completely disregarding the sharp sound of shattering glass.

“Look at me,” Wymack demanded from over Andrew’s shoulder, “Look at me, god damn you, and breathe.”

“I can’t do this,” Kevin gasped out.

“It doesn’t matter what they say. You signed a contract with me.”

“He could pay off my scholarship in a heartbeat. You know he would. He’d pay you off and take me home and I—I can’t go back there. I cant, I cant, I won’t, I—have to go. I have to go. I should go now, before he has to come for me. Maybe he’ll forgive me if I go back. If I make him hunt me down any more than I have already he’ll kill me for sure.”

“Shut up,” Wymack said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I can’t tell Riko no!”

“Then don’t say a word,” Wymack said. “Keep your mouth shut and let me and Andrew do the talking. Yes, Andrew. Don’t tell me you forgot about that psycho holding you up right now.”

Andrew pressed his forearm a little harder into the taller player’s chest to remind him he was there.

“I’m not letting you go back there,” Wymack said. “Nothing says I have to. Your contract says you belong to me. He can send us all the money he wants, but you have to sign off on it before it means anything, and you’re not going to. Okay? You let me and Andrew worry about Riko fuck-face.”

“Good one coach, might have to steal that,” Andrew drawled.

“Can it Minyard,” Wymack said, before addressing Kevin once more. “You worry about getting your game and team where they need to be. You promised me you could get us past the fourth match this year.”

“That was before,” Kevin said, miserable. “This is now.”

Andrew was beginning to understand what caused Neil to lash out all those weeks ago if Jean had to put up with this shit on a daily basis.

“The ERC is giving us until August before they break the news. They recognize the need to coordinate with campus security after all those fiascos last spring with your sudden transfer and subsequent announcement of your intent to return this year as player not a coach."

Quiet descended in the small apartment until finally Kevin said, “Give me your phone.” 

Andrew dropped his arm from where it was pinning the striker to the wall.

“If you think Andrew is going to let you use his phone to call him, you—”

“Jean,” Kevin cut in. “I know you have a way to get ahold of them. You’re too unfazed, even for the drugs. You knew. I have to call him. I have to hear him say it.”

Apparently that was an acceptable compromise, because Wymack backed off. At his nod, Andrew reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. Before Kevin could snag it, the blonde held it back. 

“Give me a minute, I need to text first.”

“Why?” Wymack asked.

“Ask boy wonder over there, he knows more about that goddamn shit-hole than I do,” Andrew said.

“I don’t—, I didn’t think—”

“Course not, you’re always act first, think later,” Andrew said without any heat. “Just like tonight. Your first instinct is hide, stick your head in the sand and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Oh an ostrich, maybe that's what you are or a-a what's that other animal...dammit. ”

“Andr—”

“Don’t,” Andrew commanded. “I may not understand French, but I do understand anger and those two Ravens will just as easily tear you to pieces as Riko. Whatever you did, or more likely didn’t do, was enough to piss off more than one person. My job, keeping you alive, is tough enough as it is without you running away all willy nilly every time Edgar Allan cries wolf.”

The couch creaked under the striker’s weight as he sunk down into it.

“Wait here,” Wymack said, and a few seconds later he stepped into the hallway. Andrew recognized the sound of Wymack’s liquor cabinet by the click of the lock and the soft clink of the glass doors. He returned a short second later with a handle of vodka and dropped it off with Kevin. “Drink, I’ll be right back.”

Andrew took his own perch on the coffee table directly in front of the striker and waited for a response to his text. His phone buzzed just as Wymack returned.

“Well?” he asked.

Andrew swiped up the screen to read the message, “They’re in between practices right now, only a couple minutes to spare before they’ll be missed.”

Kevin took a long drag of vodka before plucking the phone from Andrew’s limp fingers.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” Kevin said, bleakly. “Tell me he didn’t.” 

Andrew couldn’t hear the answer, but the sharp tap of Kevin’s finger hitting the end button said it wasn’t the one he wanted.

“How can they pit the best and worst teams against each other?” he asked, hopelessly.

“One that knows there’s a lot to gain from it,” Wymack said. “Your transfer created a lot of backlash, but it also generated a lot of new interest in Exy. The ERC wants to follow it though to the natural conclusion: Kevin and Riko’s reunion on the court, but this time as rivals for the first time ever. It doesn’t matter who wins. They know what publicity and funding they can score with such a move.”

“I can’t play against Riko,” Kevin said. “I’m not ready.”

“Riko isn’t your problem, leave him to Matt. Your problem is getting around his backliners and goalkeeper,” Wymack paused for a breath. “Speaking of backliners I was so wrapped up in calming Kevin down I never read the article. What position do they have Neil playing?”

“Backliner,” Andrew said, “and—”

“He was always meant to be number three,” Kevin interrupted. “He used to play—”

Andrew returned the favor by cutting him off, “And striker.”

“Both?” Wymack asked. “I knew he subbed out of necessity back in Millport, but EA has over twenty players, surely…” 

Andrew shrugged, he didn’t care either way. Exy was just another way to pass the time.

“No, the mast—Tetsuji’s not like that,” Kevin said. “If they listed him as both he’s up to Raven standards for both. Could be a publicity stunt, or a punishment in some way. He’ll have to train twice as hard.”

“Should make for an interesting season,” Wymack stated.

“Can’t you protest?” Kevin asked. “They’re setting us up for a match everyone knows we can’t win.”

“I could, but it won’t do any good,” Wymack said. “The ERC doesn’t do take-backs, especially when it means spurning a Moriyama.”

 _Fucking Moriyamas,_ Andrew thought. It always came back to them somehow. _I’d rest a lot easier if the lot of them were dead._

**-POV Shift-**

Neil scanned the court tracking the ball as it ricochet off the plexiglass and waited until just before it landed in his opponent’s racquet to drop his shoulder into their sternum. Engle, the striker, stopped moving, but the ball didn’t. He scooped it up and fired it up court to Riko without sparing a glance at the boy on the ground.

Jean clacked his stick against Neil's in congratulations, “I’m beginning to feel like you’re making it personal.”

“If you didn’t want me to do anything, you should’ve kept your mouth shut about their transgressions,” Neil snarled.

The taller boy laughed, “No words of complaint from me, I’m just enjoying the show.”

“Well, when you are done watching I’d appreciate it if you kept Jenkins from running circles around us,” Neil said, contemptuously. “She’s driving me crazy, always standing in my blind spot. No need for niceties on the court Jean, put her on her back next time.”

“Aye, aye _mon capitaine_.”

Neil smacked the head of his racquet into the back of Jean’s knees, “Riko may not speak French, but he’s not stupid so stop calling me that.”

The backliner gave him a taunting salute and walked away. Neil counted to ten in every language he knew to resist the urge to strangle the Frenchman. It wasn’t long after the play the buzzer sounded signaling the end of morning practice and the scrimmage. Following the sea of black Neil made his way to his locker, Jean a familiar presence at his back. He didn’t notice anything was amiss until he felt his roommate stiffen. Neil looked up.

Waiting for them in a semi-circle were a handful of Riko’s most devout followers along with the man himself. Riko was smiling, and the look made Neil sick to his stomach.

“Fuck,” Neil swore in German and then switched to French. “Have I done anything lately to piss him off?”

“No more so than usual,” Jean replied in the same language.

Riko’s eyes darkened even further at the use of French. Over the course of his short life Neil had been subjected to his father’s looks of fury and loathing. However, he’d never looked at him like this, like Neil’s blood would be the highlight of his day. The butcher was a vicious killer with a hair-trigger temper, but he thrived on death and fear, not pain and submission, unlike Riko.

“Keep away from me,” Neil told him.

Riko pulled a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. “I thought you weren’t afraid of my knives, _Nathaniel_. Was that a lie to make yourself feel better?”

Neil felt a comforting brush of fingertips against his lower back from Jean. Riko meanwhile looked at Neil like he was imagining skinning him alive and feeding him the bloody scraps. His expression said he was getting off on the fantasy. Neil didn’t flinch when Riko put the tip of the blade to Neil’s lips, but it was a near thing. The only thing keeping him immobile was Jean’s warmth at his side.

“I am going to love hurting you,” Riko said, “like I loved hurting Kevin.”

Neil couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut, “You are one seriously fucked-up individual.”

Jean groaned a second before Riko slipped the knife into Neil’s mouth and pushed, hard enough to break the skin at the corner, but not deep enough to do any real damage. “Shut up and lie down,” Riko ordered. “We don’t have a lot of time, and I promised the master to have you back on your feet before night practice.”

“You disgust me,” Neil said around the blade.

“Lie down,” the striker repeated, “and put your hands on the bench.”

Neil stretched out on his back and reached over his head to grasp the edge of the wooden bench. Jean caught his hands in a trembling grip to guide them to the right place. Neil dug his fingers into the grooves of the wood to ground himself. He tried to keep track of his friend, but Riko felt him tense, and withdrew his blade. The redhead looked up and regretted it immediately. The young captain was poised over his face, a tattoo instrument in hand.

“About time you got your number, don’t you think?” He asked, though Neil knew he wasn’t expecting an answer.

Then a loud whirring sound filled his ears as the machine turned on and gentle hands carded into his hair tilting his head to the side, exposing his left cheek. Jean was murmuring to him in French, but he could only hear every other word over the noise of the needle. Neil felt the need to reassure the other boy.

“It’s ok Jean, it’s not your fault.”

He thought he heard the word ‘sorry’ before he felt Jean’s fingers tighten in his hair a second before fire lit up his face. Neil struggled not to move knowing one simple twitch could blind him. Jean never once broke eye-contact, stormy grey met icy blue and held on for dear life.

“There, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

Neil fought to make sense of the words as spikes of pain pulsed out from his cheekbone. “You r-really love hearing the sound of your own voice, don't you?”

Jean’s hands were ripped away from where they were cradling his head as Riko’s knife returned.

“You’re going to regret that.” 

“I’m sorry,” Neil apologized, insincerely. “I thought we were asking rhetorical questions, my bad.”

Riko pressed the switchblade to his throat, “Who is your King, Nathaniel?”

Neil spat in his face.

The youngest Moriyama froze, then slowly reached up to touch the glob on his cheek. He eyed his slick fingers for a moment as if needing to see the mess to believe it before squeezing Neil’s face in an iron grip. He pried his mouth open and spat in it. A hand over Neil’s mouth kept him from coughing it back up. Riko leaned forward while pressing the knife to Neil’s chest, sliding the edge under the skin.

“I’m going to make this as terrible as I know how,” Riko promised him. “When it’s too much for you, don’t hesitate to cry.”

Unable to respond, Neil lashed out in the only way he could, and bit down hard on the hand over his mouth drawing blood. Then his world went black.

**-POV Shift-**

The quiet lapping of the water against the pool’s edge did nothing to ease Jean’s mind. He pulled his small bundle tighter to his chest willing Neil to wake up. It had been the longest hour of his life watching Riko cut into the redhead over and over again until Tetsuji happened upon them. 

Any other time witnessing the master chastise his Nephew with unforgiving strikes of his cane would be heaven, but Jean had eyes only for the bloody mess sprawled across the locker room floor. He waited a solid minute after the others left to make sure there’d be no unexpected surprises and then crouched down next to his friend. His hands hovered over the body looking for an uninjured place to grasp, only there were none.

“ _Fils de pute_ ,” Jean swore and attempted to rouse the young man. Unable to do so, he stood and went to his locker pulling out a hoodie and clean underwear. Returning to the shorter boy he wrapped him up as best he could in several of the numerous black towels dotting the area and lifted. 

Neil was still, but for a small noise of discomfort at being jostled. Jean walked as quickly as he dared to his destination. Thirty minutes later he felt the other boy begin to stir.

“Hnggg,” came the soft garble.

“Neil, you with me?” Jean asked rubbing soft circles at the base of his neck.

“Why am I naked?” Neil asked.

Jean laughed, a harsh sound of relief knowing the redhead was ok, well as ok as could be expected. He didn’t realize he’d started to cry until the soft pad of a finger brushed away a tear.

“Hey,” Neil whispered, “I’m fine.”

“I’m not sure you understand the meaning of that word,” Jean stated.

“It’s why I like it so much,” Neil explained. “It can apply to so many different situations. Now can you fill me in on why in the heck I’m laying in the hydrotherapy pool, naked, with a completely clothed Frenchman?”

Jean hid his smile in the redhead’s hair, “What do you remember?”

Neil leaned his head back to rest more comfortably in crook of Jean’s neck, “Well, I’m guessing I got a tattoo.”

“Haha very funny,” Jean said. “What else?”

“Riko needs to work on his knife skills,” Neil deadpanned. “I lost consciousness too early.”

“Neil,” Jean berated.

“I really am fi—”

“You complete that sentence I’ll refuse to share my serving of fruit with you for a week,” Jean threatened, interrupting Neil’s protest.

“I maintain my original opinion, you my dear, are a mother hen,” Neil teased. “But in all seriousness I don’t remember much of anything past spitting in his face.”

“The fucking devil, that’s what you are.”

“Guilty,” Neil admitted and Jean felt the younger boy shrug against his chest. “It’s the same old story. He hurts me, you patch me up, and then we go back on the court until it happens all over again. I just want to know why you felt the need to strip me and commandeer the therapy pool.”

Jean relented, “Basically you bit down so hard on Reacher’s finger it broke, compound fracture, pierced the skin.”

Neil nodded, “Good, then what?”

“Riko was pissed. He slid the knife under your shirt, but you bucked him off so he back-handed you,” Jean explained. “Depending on how you look at it your head hitting the edge of the bench might be considered a blessing.”

“I concur,” Neil agreed. “So what? He continued to take his pound of flesh until he got bored?”

Jean shook his head, “No, the master showed up. Riko was only meant to give you the tattoo and rough you up a little, but not enough to interfere with evening practice. He was also supposed to keep the injuries contained between armpits and knees.”

“To hide them more easily.” Neil said, nonchalantly.

“Right, so coach was irritated and took his cane to him. The boys cleared out quickly after that.”

“I’m sensing a but,” Neil said.

“Well, Riko had to reestablish his, I don’t know, dominance or something after the master beat him in front of his cronies. So—”

“So?” 

“So he had them pee on you.” Jean finished, lamely.

“Great, an actually pissing contest,” Neil moaned. “How juvenile, I’m assuming that’s how I ended up naked.”

“Hey can you stop making it sound like I put you in a compromising position or something? I kept your boxers on. I even packed one of my oversized hoodies you love to steal for afterwards.”

“And that black eye you’re trying to hide? You give yourself that or do I have someone else to thank?” Neil said darkly, reaching up to brush the side of his face in a feather light touch.

“One of the boys was going to take it step further and pee into your mouth,” Jean said, avoiding eye contact with the younger male. “I reminded him what a bad idea that was. Riko took exception to that, hence the black eye, but it doesn’t matter. Williams learned his lesson. I just wish I’d done more.”

“Thank you,” Neil said tipping Jean’s chin down with his thumb and forefinger to look at him. “Don’t ever be sorry for protecting yourself. I don’t need a champion.”

The taller boy drew his knees up pulling the other boy close, “Then stop making it seem like you do.”

Neil laughed, mirthlessly. “No promises.”

“Imp,” Jean taunted.

This time a genuine chuckle escaped the redhead and Jean smiled in victory. They’d be ok. 

“Now, let’s get the fuck out of here,” Neil said. “My delicate skin is turning all pruney.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fils de pute=Son of a Whore


	7. Truth for Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few answers and a couple conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, mentions/discussions of murder

“You weren’t joking about the sixteen hour days,” Neil groaned, leaning heavily on Jean’s arm.

“Get off you leech,” the taller boy fussed. “I can hardly stand myself.”

The rest of July had dragged on much of the same. If they weren’t on the court, they were in the classroom learning PR skills or watching game film. The only thing to break up the month was when the nearby exercise science and research facility came by and set up equipment to evaluate their physical fitness. Neil loved those days, as much as one can enjoy something in the Nest. It was fascinating to watch his swing in slow motion from every angle. Occasionally they’d find something to correct.

“You see this red line here,” a young woman pointed at the monitor. Neil nodded. “You’re dropping your left elbow twelve degrees below optimum range of motion.”

“That’s because I have two cracked ribs on that side right now,” the redhead said off-handedly before he could stop himself. Judging by her face she wasn’t pleased. No, she was aghast with barely concealed horror.

“I-I’m so sorry, they didn’t tell me you were injured. Please don’t get me fired," she pleaded.

“Relax, I’ve played through worse. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Neil apologized. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

The woman jerked her head in acceptance and continued on, analyzing Neil's every move down to the millimeter for perfection. And if that didn’t just fit the Ravens to a T, expect the best, be the best; science at its finest.

As the days wore on Neil decided he preferred the time spent playing, even if it resulted in physical pain. He grew up on pain. Pain was familiar. People were not.

Neil was in the classroom learning basic Japanese with the rest of the freshman, meaning he was doing his best to hide he wasn't a beginner, when one of the assistant coaches interrupted. It was a rare moment when he and Jean were separated.

“Josten, with me,” he barked.

Neil stood, gathering his things. The man led him through the hallways to a less frequented area for the teen, until a few twists and turns landed them outside of Tetsuji’s office. The assistant coach rapped once on the door before opening it, gesturing for Neil to enter.

Inside Neil found the master standing behind a large mahogany desk. He’d only been here once before. The room was opulent and though it was underground, like everything else in the Nest, it had an LCD screen projecting a view of cherry blossom trees. It was at once odd and fitting at the same time.

“Sit,” Tetsuji commanded. So Neil, naturally, stayed standing. “Very well.”

The redhead tried not to shy away as the head coach approached. He had only a moment to spare before the cane came down on the back of his knee causing it to buckle. Neil fell into the chair.

“Much better,” Tetsuji said, with a self-satisfied nod. “I’ve been informed your mouth got the better of you again recently.”

“It does that a lot sir, you’ll have to be more specific,” Neil retorted.

“A young woman from the research facility,” the master enumerated.

Neil’s gut tightened with anxiety, “Yes, she was very helpful in correcting a few of my bad habits.”

“Indeed, I’m sure there are many,” Tetsuji agreed. “I thought you’d like to know she’s been removed from the project.”

Neil swallowed, afraid to ask, “Removed how?”

The master’s blank face was answer enough, “We can’t go having our methods splashed all over the internet, _Nathaniel_.”

Neil bolted out of his chair unwilling to hear the rest. He tore through the office and ran blindly down the halls uncaring for the people he knocked over. His feet unconsciously led him to the door at the base of East Tower. Neil punched in the code, sprinting up the stairs before the door could even slam shut behind him. The redhead spun in a circle upon reaching the main lobby, unsure where to go next, but ultimately deciding to step into the elevator. He flipped open the security panel and scanned his palm, the light turned green.

The teen barely took in the decor as he stepped off into the suite. He made a beeline for the bathroom on unsteady feet as his vision darkened around the edges. Neil made it to the toilet with not a second to spare before he lost his meager lunch.

 _It’s all my fault. I killed her, me and my stupid mouth. My fault. My fault. My fault._ Neil’s thoughts rapidly spiraled out of control. He was so lost in his mind he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until a cold wash cloth hit the back of his neck. Neil looked up from his place on the tile.

“J-Jean,” he whispered, in disbelief. “How?”

“I’m regretting not forcing you earlier to tell me how you knew the passcode to this place,” Jean said. “You want to try explaining to me why I’m getting phone calls from Ichirou Moriyama’s personal cell number?”

Neil pushed his head further into the toilet bowl and mumbled something too low for the other boy to make out.

“Hey, none of that now,” Jean said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Neil let Jean help him stand and even allowed him to lift him up onto the counter, though it normally irritated him to be treated as fragile. His head felt fuzzy and he endeavored to focus while Jean began rooting around in the cabinets for something.

“Ah-ha, got it,” Jean said triumphantly, pulling out a small personal hygiene kit. He unpackaged the new toothbrush and went about ripping the quality control foil from the travel sized toothpaste. Neil took it out of his hands after watching him fail for a few minutes.

“Give it here you ham-handed barbarian.”

Jean sighed, but didn’t protest. Neil thought he must really look a fright if the Frenchman didn’t even bother to acknowledge the insult. Neil dutifully washed his mouth and dumped a bit of cleaner into the toilet restoring the bathroom as close as possible to how he’d found it. The two boys ended up in a large sitting area overlooking the stadium.

“Sit.”

At the familiar words, spoken only moments ago, Neil’s breathing picked up again.

“Stop it!” Jean’s voice cut in sharply with a firm hand to the back of his neck. “It wasn’t an order Neil, please sit down before you pass out. You’ve hit your quota for the week of me carrying you.”

“Hardy har, har.” Neil replied sarcastically, but sat down nevertheless into the plush sectional.

“What happened?” the taller boy asked, still gripping tightly onto back of Neil’s neck. “You were supposed to be in class.”

“I-I was,” Neil started, “at least for a little while.”

Jean’s hand gave a gentle squeeze urging him to go on.

“One of the assistant coaches came to fetch me,” Neil said. “He escorted me to the master’s office. The usual battle of wills ensued until he mentioned a woman.”

“What woman?” Jean asked.

“You know, the blonde one with the disgusting nail biting habit?” Neil described. Jean nodded to indicate he knew who he was referring to. “Last week we were going over my swing dynamics and she pointed out a flaw. Only it wasn’t a flaw, but a conscious effort to protect my injured ribs.”

Neil unknowingly rubbed at the still healing bones. “I got defensive without meaning to and made a careless comment about how I’ve played through worse. She must've let something slip to the wrong person and got found out and they…” Neil swallowed. “They had her removed.”

“I see.” 

Neil didn’t need to say anything else, Jean knew what it meant. They sat there for what felt like an eternity before Jean spoke again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he declared.

Neil flinched and looked up into swirling grey eyes, “But—”

“But nothing,” Jean snapped. “She opened her mouth and got caught. You’d have to be blind to not see what goes on in here.”

“Like Kevin?” Neil asked sheepishly.

“That _putain_ has a blind spot a kilometer wide when it comes to anything that isn’t related to Exy,” Jean said, vehemently. “The truth remains, it wasn't your fault.”

“If I’d just kept my mouth sh—”

Jean readjusted his hands to cradle Neil’s face not allowing him to look away. “Don’t start that now. The minute you start asking ‘what if’ is the minute you lose yourself. Just don’t. I’ve been down that path and it isn’t pretty.”

Neil searched Jean’s eyes, “Ok."

Jean nodded sharply, “Ok. Now let’s see if there’s any good booze hidden in here.”

“You could try the wet bar in the corner,” Neil teased.

“Smartass.”

Neil stood up from the couch and approached the floor to ceiling windows showing an impressive view of the stadium. A soft touch at his elbow alerted him to Jean’s return.

“Here,” Jean shoved a tumbler of amber liquid into his chest. Neil gripped it tightly. “So, what set you off? It's not like you're a stranger to death."

The redhead took a cautious sip from his glass trying to sort out how he felt about drinking alcohol for the sake of anything other than pain relief. Used to Neil's long contemplative silences Jean did the same.

"I suppose it might've been an overreaction," Neil admitted readily. "But I had a dream last night about my mother."

"A flashback?"

"More like an image that was super imposed," Neil clarified taking another sip. "She resembled her a bit from when I was younger."

The taller boy hummed in understanding before asking, "So about that phone call?”

Neil stared unseeingly out the tempered glass, “Did he really call you?”

“Yes,” Jean affirmed. “He said something about being notified you’d accessed the biometric scanner. Whatever he saw on the feeds it was enough to send me after you. Demanded, really.”

“Huh,” Neil huffed.

“Yeah, care to explain?”

Neil gazed up at the dark haired boy wondering what he did to deserve such devotion.

“Don’t look at me like that, geez,” Jean said pushing Neil's face away in feigned disgust. “You look like a kicked puppy. It’s fine, you don’t have to say. I’ve known for a while now something bigger is going on.”

Neil raised an eyebrow and took another swallow of the smooth liquor letting the burn sooth away the remnants of his earlier panic.

“Fucking drama queen, can’t even ask the question aloud,” Jean lamented. “Oh wow Jean, you’re so observant, how did you possibly notice me sneaking out at all hours of the night?”

Neil pointedly knocked back the remainder of the liquor.

“I hate you,” Jean said.

“How did you know?” Neil acquiesced.

“Oh come on, you may be pint sized, but your hair is a goddamn beacon,” Jean stated. “It also doesn’t hurt we share a bed now. I never was a heavy sleeper and you rarely move unless you’re having a nightmare so it’s glaringly obvious when get up.”

Neil hummed.

“It’s like pulling teeth to get a straight answer out of you,” Jean said throwing his hands in exasperation nearly spilling his drink. “Whatever, I give up, keep your little clandestine activities to yourself. Just make sure I don’t get dragged down with you.”

The redhead leaned his shoulder against the glass facing his partner fully and let down his mask, showing just how tired he really was. The two young men stared at each other cataloging the different hurts, physical or otherwise, and without a word clinked glasses.

“Cheers mate,” Neil saluted.

“I need another drink,” Jean said and grabbed both glasses, now empty.

Neil’s laughter floated after him as he went to pilfer more of the top-shelf liquor, courtesy of the Moriyamas, which made it all the sweeter in Neil’s opinion. He looked on affectionately as the dark haired boy perused the selection, mumbling all the while in French. The redhead swore he heard Jean call him by his favorite nickname, _diable rouge_.

Red Devil

**-POV Shift-**

Dr. Betsy Jo Dobson’s office was located a short car ride from the Foxhole Court in Reddin Hall. The building was split in half, with psychiatric down one passage hidden from sight and an array of doctors’ offices closer to the front. Andrew signed himself in at the desk and went down the hall in search of the good doctor.

There was only one door open, and Betsy’s name plaque was on the wall beside it. Andrew invited himself in and looked around at the familiar space. A chair and couch faced each other with a short coffee table between them. A small potted plant was in the dead center of the table, and pillows were carefully arranged on both the couch and the chair. The desk in the corner was clear of everything but a hot plate and kettle. A short bookshelf was against the wall, but only the bottom three shelves had books on them. The top one was covered in glass knickknacks, but even in their clutter they looked clean, as they were all set equidistant to each other.

 _Physician, heal thyself,_ Andrew thought and not for the first time. He recalled when he was introduced to Dr. Dobson, over a year ago now. He decided to call her out on her obsessive-compulsiveness and the woman simply smiled stating ‘guilty’ totally unfazed before fixing him a cup of hot cocoa. It turned into Andrew picking her up a new figurine every so often just to see how’d she’d rearrange the shelf.

“Hello there Andrew,” Dr. Dobson greeted. “Hope you’ll forgive me for stepping out for a moment, had to water Maureen’s plants before I forgot again.”

Andrew chose to ignore her, plopping down on the couch and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Without a word the doctor, or Bee as Andrew referred to her as, started up the kettle preparing two cups of hot chocolate, unbothered by the blonde’s lack of response or the ninety degree weather.

“Bit hot outside for that don’t you think?” Andrew asked, just to see what she’d say.

Bee’s eyes crinkled with undisguised mirth, “We both know that’s never stopped us before. Chocolate is good anytime of the year.”

Andrew pulled out his cell while he waited.

“New phone?” Betsy asked, as she handed him his cup careful to avoid contact.

The blonde shrugged and continued to check his unread messages. He had a few from Nicky, which he left alone, and one new one from his favorite birdie. 

**_‘kale or spinach?’_ **

Andrew swiped up to reply, _**‘neither’**_.

A few seconds later he got a response, ** _‘wish I had that option’_**.

They’d been exchanging messages for a couple weeks now. It was usually dumb stuff like ‘what’s your favorite Exy team?’ or something like the kale question where Neil would give him two things to choose between. 

“Someone I know?” Betsy asked. Andrew’s head snapped up. He'd forgotten she was there.

“No,” he said flatly irritated at his lack of awarness.

“Ok,” Bee replied, always so accepting. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“What?”

“Andrew, I’ve known you for a while now and you don’t have friends outside of those people you consider under your protection,” she stated.

“I have friends,” the blonde replied, face carefully blank.

Betsy raised an eyebrow over the lip of her mug waiting patiently, always patiently. It’s the main reason he stayed with her as his state mandated therapist. He’d been through twelve prior to her. She never pushed and easily acknowledged whatever Andrew was willing to share or not share. All he had to do was say ‘change the subject’ and she would. Sometimes they’d circle back when he was ready, but never before.

“He plays Exy,” Andrew started. “Obsesses over it really.”

Bee nodded.

“You’d have a field day with him Bee, all sorts of issues.”

“In what way?” She asked.

Andrew tilted is head, “Oh Bee, he’s a Raven.”

Dr. Dobson’s face bleached of all color and her hands shook as she set her cocoa down on the coffee table.

“Andrew, is he— does he need help?” She offered.

The blonde shook his head, “No, he dug his own grave.”

“I see,” Bee said. “Does that bother you? That he doesn’t need your help?”

“Why would that bother me?”

“You like to be needed Andrew. In fact, I’d say you require it,” she said. “Is that not why you make your ‘deals'? To have a reason, however small, to rationalize living one more day?”

“I want nothing,” Andrew argued. “I need nothing.”

“It’s ok to want things Andrew, it’s perfectly normal,” Bee said, kindly.

“Betsy roo, bumble bee, JoJo…we both know there’s nothing normal about me,” Andrew said.

“Would you like me to change the subject?” Bee asked considerately.

“That would imply I care,” Andrew answered.

“Ok, so this boy, does he have a name?” 

“Right for the big ones Bee, course he does,” Andrew said and took another sip of his cocoa, “many.”

“He has a lot of names?”

“Comes with the territory apparently,” the blonde said.

“What do you prefer to call him?”

“Shortest name is Neil,” Andrew answered, “sometimes junkie when he’s being all fanatic over Exy.”

“Is that what you talk about, Exy?” Betsy asked.

“Occasionally.”

“What else do you discuss?”

Andrew recalled their last phone call.

**-FLASHBACK-**

“ _Nathaniel_ ,” Andrew said by way of greeting.

A sharp inhale, “I see Kevin opened up his big mouth.”

“Really _Nathaniel_ you should know better by now than to trust that kid with anything, including his own life. He has a way of self imploding.”

An irritated huff, “I don’t envy you the task of keeping him alive.”

"If it were easy it'd be no fun," Andrew said and took a pull of his cigarette. “So _Nathaniel_ , let’s play a little game.”

“Can you stop calling me that please?”

“I don’t like that word,” Andrew growled.

“What? Please?”

“Yes.”

“Ok,” Neil agreed, just like that. Andrew was reminded of Bee’s easy acceptance. 

“This game is called truth for truth,” the blonde explained. “I ask you one question, which you must answer honestly, and then you get to do the same.”

“And if I can’t answer?” Neil asked.

“Then say so, but don’t lie,” Andrew said. 

“Ok, who goes first?”

“That your question, Neil?” Andrew asked. He could practically picture the redhead rolling his eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” Neil said and Andrew noticed again that soft accent. He knew what he wanted to ask.

“You know you have an accent when you speak, it’s especially strong when you’re emotional,” Andrew began. “Where did you pick it up?"

“Oh,” Neil said, “I never noticed. This the official start?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, ummmm short answer is England I guess,” Neil answered.

“And the long answer?” Andrew asked.

“My m-mother her family is from there and I must’ve picked it up from her unknowingly,” Neil said. “I hadn’t realized it was so noticeable. Probably because I’m around Jean so much and his accent is really thick.”

Andrew nodded to himself, “Your turn.”

“Oh ok, hmmm,” Neil stuttered.

“Any day now Neil…”

A soft laugh, “Sorry, I just—I don’t know what to ask. Let’s see, how about what’s your favorite color?”

 _Idiot_ , Andrew thought, “Black. You?”

“Grey.” 

It somehow suited him that color. Nondescript, boring, a color that easily blends into the background. For a boy who lived most of his life on the run it made sense in a way.

“My turn,” Andrew said. “Your mom, how’d she die?”

Silence, and then a shaky breath. Andrew could just make out a murmur of French in the background. Someone wasn’t alone.

“Neil.” Andrew prompted.

“I-I know, I’m just…I don’t know where to start.”

“Typically at the beginning, junkie.”

“Fuck you asshole,” Neil swore, another long pause. “Fine, we were in Seattle. It was supposed to be an easy pickup. One of my mom’s contacts was going to fence a couple jewelry items for us. We had to pick up the money from the sale.”

Andrew could hear Neil swallow.

“It was a trap, my father’s men were waiting for us,” Neil explained. “I lost sight of my mom in the fight. I could hear the heavy thump of something metal hitting flesh. We managed to make it to the street and I set off a car alarm. In the resulting chaos we slipped away.”

“How’d she die Neil?”

“I liked it better when we talked about our favorite colors,” Neil said petulantly. “What do you want me to say Andrew? That I hadn’t realized she’d been injured so badly she’d bled most of the way through Oregon? That I hadn’t thought it was serious even though she was bleeding out on the inside, a kidney and her liver ruptured, her intestines bruised beyond repair?”

“Yes.”

“God, you’re infuriating,” Neil declared. “But you wanna know the worst part? By the time I realized she was saying goodbye, it was too late. She died and I just sat there. Her abdomen felt like stone when I touched her, swollen and hard. You wanna know what a dead body sounds like after it’s been glued to the seat with blood?”

Andrew waited patiently for him to continue.

“It rips off the vinyl like velcro,” Neil answered. “I couldn’t even bring myself to get her out of the car, so I burned it instead. I dumped every emergency case of gasoline we’d bought along the way onto the seats so it’d scorch her down to the bone. I laughed when the flames caught, and didn’t flinch when I pulled her cooling bones out. I filled my backpack with everything that was left of her, carried her for miles down the beach and buried her as deep as I could.”

Andrew was quiet as he waited for Neil’s breath to level out on the other line. He could hear Jean in the background again. At some point he’d have to address this whole partner system thing. 

“You done?” Andrew asked.

“Yes _salaud_ , I’m done.”

Andrew really was going to learn French one of these days, “Ok, your turn.”

“What about your mother?”

“What about her?” Andrew asked.

“How’d she die?” Neil clarified. “Your file only says deceased.”

“My file?”

“Yes you idiot, from when Kevin and Riko tried to recruit you. It’s still here.” Neil said, as if it was obvious.

“Whatever, you read it?” Andrew asked.

“Thought it was my turn to ask the questions?” Neil retorted. “And of course I read it Andrew, you and I both understand the value of information.”

“Car wreck.”

“Not accident?” Neil asked, way too sharp for Andrew’s comfort.

“No,” Andrew answered.

“I see,” Neil said and Andrew had a feeling the redhead really did ‘see’. “Did you kill her?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions Neil.”

“Ok, why?”

“Better,” Andrew stated. “Because I made a promise. I told her to stop hitting him and she didn’t listen.”

“Your twin? Aaron?” Neil guessed.

“Yes,” the blonde replied. “After my stint in juvie Tilda was forced to be my mom again. It wasn’t bad enough she got Aaron hooked on pills, but she’d lash out at him too. He tried to defend her, said she didn’t know what she was doing, had a stressful day, whatever. It was disgusting. Family is a toxic excuse for things people put up with, a reason we accept the tragedies and inconveniences forced upon us.”

“Yes, it is.” 

“Careful Neil or you’ll end up with court ordered therapy just like me," Andrew said and popped out another cigarette from his pack.

“How’d you do it?”

“Pretended to be Aaron,” Andrew said and lit up, taking a drag. “Waited for a rainy day and convinced her to get in the car with me. When she discovered who it really was, she freaked. The brake-lines were already compromised, end of story.”

“Were you hurt?” Neil asked.

Andrew was startled when a laugh escaped. He’d just admitted to murdering his own mother and Neil asked ‘were you hurt?’. _Goddamn weirdo_.

“I lived Neil, she didn’t. That was kind of the point.” Andrew stated.

“Good.”

And that was that. There was no screaming, no accusing him of being a monster, of being unstable. Neil accepted it pure and simple. They changed the subject after that to lighter things until Jean cut in tell the kid he needed to sleep, like he was his fucking parent or something. Andrew stubbed out the last of his cigarette and flicked it out over the edge of the roof.

**-PRESENT DAY-**

“We play a game,” Andrew said, answering Bee’s earlier question about what they talk about. Neil’s secrets were his and his alone; he had no intentions of giving them to Bee or anyone else.

“That’s good Andrew, I’m glad you’re expanding your circle,” Bee praised.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night Bee,” Andrew said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowza this is quickly becoming massive and the school year hasn't even started yet for our favorite characters. Still lots more to come. I'd love to hear what you think, your predictions, any suggestions; so drop a comment below. I love reading them! Until next time...


	8. Section E, Clause IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In for a Penny, In for a Pound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Attempted Rape, non-consensual drug use, Disassociation. Of course, Language.

If there was one thing at the Nest Neil couldn’t adjust to, it was the permanent cold. Buried beneath thirty-thousand tons of concrete the dark halls held a permanent chill. Jean liked to joke how Neil was the devil hiding in human form or that because Neil hated vegetables he had poor circulation. No matter the reason it never quite left him and made him grateful for the large furnace at his back. Jean had turned into a koala over the course of them sharing a single bed; he glomped onto him each night with increasing enthusiasm. 

They weren’t always this close. The first couple of weeks they nearly killed each other with Neil pushing the boundaries of both Moriyamas’ patience to the limit and Jean paying the price alongside him. It wasn’t until later they called a truce after a particularly nasty practice. Riko had shoved Jean down a flight of stairs snapping two of his fingers and refused to let Jean treat it till after a full day of practice was over. Neil broke some poor freshman’s nose when he tried to take advantage of his partner’s handicap. The rest was history.

As to how they ended up sharing a bed, it was surprisingly Jean who broached the subject. Not out of genuine need for human contact, but because Neil was driving him crazy with his sleeping habits.

**-Flashback-**

_Fuck_ , Neil thought as he gasped awake for the third time that night. 

“I swear to god English boy, get it together or do us all a favor and die already,” Jean hissed.

Neil mumbled a quiet apology, but couldn’t stop staring at the open door frame. The red ambient lighting made it all the more menacing. He’d slept in worse places with his mother over the years, however nothing this exposed; this vulnerable. He rolled over and tried blocking out his intrusive thoughts.

The next day at breakfast he nearly wore his oatmeal as he fell asleep at the table. If Jean hadn’t pinched his leg, he would have face planted directly into his bowl. 

“I’m warning you, if I suffer because of you today I will smother you in your sleep myself,” the Frenchman threatened.

Neil nodded barely able to keep his head up. Practice was miserable that day and after a thorough beating he found himself losing time until Jean slapped him hard across the cheek.

“Good,” he began, “you with me finally?” At Neil’s confused look he continued. “What’s it going to take to get a decent night’s rest around here?”

“I-I don’t,” Neil tried to explain.

“Goddammit Neil, you fucking fell asleep standing up. I refuse to be taken down with you,” Jean complained. “So again, I’m asking you, what’ll take?”

“It’s just,” Neil swallowed. “The room, there’s no door. It’s so unprotected. How can you sleep knowing anyone could walk in?”

“I can’t do anything about that,” Jean stated. “When I first got here I used to run myself into the ground until I passed out. Eventually I had no choice but to collapse or acclimate. I preferred the latter.”

“That’s not a viable option for me,” Neil said. “I don’t have that kind of time or leisure. I’ll fall too far behind.”

Jean sat down, turning his desk chair backwards to straddle it and resting his arms across the top. “Sleep with me?”

Neil’s jaw dropped.

“Not like that idiot,” Jean said, and threw a pen at him. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant, would it help if we shared a bed? Someone to watch your back in the literal sense?”

The redhead contemplated it. In all his years on the run Neil and his mother had always slept back to back. The familiar weight of a body behind him and a weapon underneath his pillow constant companions. 

“Yes, if you’re willing.” 

“Hell yeah, if it means I can get even a couple hours of undisturbed rest,” Jean affirmed.

“Ok,” Neil agreed. 

Over the course of several weeks as their partner bond grew their sleeping position changed to reflect that. They went from back to back to wriggling as close as possible, often waking up with tangled legs and tightly gripped hands. Neil thought Andrew’s therapist might have a few choice words for that, _codependence_ , came to mind. Based on the blonde’s description of some of Kevin’s odder habits it was probably a good guess.

Regardless Neil was appreciative of having someone he could trust so close at hand. 

**-Present Day-**

Jean stirred and mumbled a soft good morning.

“Morning,” Neil replied and disentangled himself from the obnoxiously tall Frenchman.

“Breakfast in bed?” Jean teased. “I’d like my eggs over easy with rye toast.”

Neil replied by tossing his pillow at him with a satisfying thump.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” Jean said, with no apparent heat. 

It had become a habit of theirs to banter like an old married couple, enough that the rest of Ravens had picked up on it. They’d dubbed Jean the overbearing housewife, much to his displeasure, and Neil the long suffering husband. The redhead thought it was amusing watching Jean argue with them about why he was the female in the relationship. He had yet to convince them to change their minds.

“Get up,” Neil ordered. “We’re going to be late. I have to meet one of the assistant coaches about my class schedule. Something about this stupid rule of at least three of us having to be in the same lecture. Talk about birds of a feather...”

“Geez, now I’m beginning to understand the nicknames,” Jean said. “To be fair though, I think you’re more of a senile grandfather figure myself.”

Neil rolled his eyes and proceeded to steal one of the taller boy’s sweatshirts just to spite him, but also because he loved how it swamped his smaller frame.

“Thief,” Jean accused, but the effect was ruined when he ruffled Neil’s bangs. “Let’s go then.”

Classes were due to start next week and it was a flurry of activity in the Nest in preparation for the new schedule. The sixteen hour days were cut back to accommodate the academic responsibilities and account for games.

“Never thought I’d be so thankful for school to start up,” Neil said.

They were done for the evening and were enjoying a late dinner in the mess-hall. The redhead froze as he saw Riko enter with a few of his followers.

“Heads up, we have company,” Neil murmured to Jean.

Both boys were on high alert as Riko approached their small table.

“Three, Four,” he said by way of greeting. “Aren’t you a pair?”

“I’d stick to Exy Riko, you’d never cut it as a comedian,” Neil couldn’t resist poking.

Riko grinned. That didn’t bode well for whatever he had planned tonight.

“The team is doing a little bonding in the club house,” he explained. “My uncle ok’d a small celebration before classes begin and you’re the only ones missing. Attendance is mandatory, get up.”

Neil exchanged a look with Jean, who gave a subtle shake of his head. This was not the time to fight. So they both gathered their half eaten meals and disposed of them before traipsing after Riko. When they got to the lounge there were two things Neil noticed right away.

One, this was by no means the whole team. Two, there was alcohol involved.

“Come on boys, take seat,” Riko commanded gesturing to a couple of armchairs. Rather than take both open spots, Neil opted to perch on the edge of Jean’s. The youngest Moriyama’s eye twitched in irritation, but didn’t protest. Words weren’t wasted as drinks were distributed amongst the small group of mainly upperclassmen.

“I’m underage,” Neil declared just to be contrary. He already knew there wasn’t really a choice.

“Oh come now, you’re safe here,” Riko said, with a sinister smirk. “Bottoms up.”

Neil maintained eye contact with the striker as he downed his shot doing his best to ignore the urge to spit it out. He lost track after that, until he noticed Engle slip something into the fourth or fifth round. Before he could think better of it, Neil grabbed both his and Jean’s knocking them back. The second it hit his tongue, his stomach lurched.

Jean made a move to get up from the armchair, but was roughly shoved back down. Neil tried to twist his head to look at him only to have Riko seize his face tightly, eyes only inches away.

“Give it a minute and then it’ll really hit. Until then, why don’t we have a little fun boys? The night is still young,” Riko said.

The world spun in a sickening rush, Neil reached for Riko with lethal intent only to have his legs swept out from underneath him. The redhead could feel the drugs eating through his system. His heart was pounding out of his chest, shaking him from the inside out. It took both Engle and Reacher to get him up. 

They hauled him away from the lounge area. Neil stumbled more than once, unable to feel the ground under his feet. He tried pulling out of their grip, but he didn’t succeed until they reached the familiar hall of the Red dorms. Neil tripped and Engle wrapped an arm around his waist dragging him deeper into the dark. The red light warped the walls through the haze of the drug making it feel like a carnival fun-house. 

_Is this how Andrew feels all the time?_ Neil wondered as he stared down at his own hand feeling disconnected from it.

His musings shattered as he recognized where they were. Neil had only a second of clarity to make a decision. He ripped an arm free and shoved a couple fingers down his throat as far as they would go causing him to gag. He did his best to get as much of it on his two escorts before it all went fuzzy again.

“Motherfucker just puked all over us.”

Neil thought that was Reacher, but couldn’t be sure. The breath was driven from him as he was tossed on the bed. Riko loomed over him, a shapeless figure, and then gripped him tight around his neck cutting off his airway. Neil couldn’t understand what he was saying, but the rough hands on his wrists sent a spike of panic through him.

He tried to focus and create as much of a gap between his hands as possible while one of the other boys slipped the bindings on, threading it through the slats of his headboard. Neil started struggling in earnest as he noticed a dazed Jean being dragged in as well. The redhead tried to call out to him, but Riko still hadn’t let go of his throat.

Neil’s thoughts felt distant, like they were floating just out of reach. His last moment of coherence before he lost touch with reality Neil sent a silent prayer hoping he’d thrown up in time to prevent the worst.

It was difficult to say how much time had passed from that brief moment of lucidity to now, but awareness came back slowly. Neil did his best to hide that he was awake.

He was still restrained, that much was obvious. Then he felt something wet near his groin. Fearing what he'd find he peered out from behind heavy lids and saw Engle leaning over his unclothed lower body sucking a hickey near his hipbone. Neil’s brain whited out. He reacted on pure fight or flight instinct.

Neil lashed out with his foot at the bigger boy scoring a direct hit to his face. Ignoring the sudden yelling, he then tugged his head up to where the zip tie held him captive to the bed. He pulled the zip tie as tight as it would go with his teeth making sure the locking mechanism was between his hands. Lifting his body to get as much leverage as possible he brought his elbows down sharply toward his stomach. The tie snapped. He was free.

Uncaring for his state of undress Neil scanned the room for threats, when his eyes landed on Reacher hovering over a catatonic Jean he saw red. Grabbing the nearest projectile Neil hurled it across the room hitting the other boy in the shoulder. He was pleased to discover it was the lamp. Snatching up a large shard of the broken light Neil set about using what Lola had taught him all those years ago. Inflict as much pain and damage as possible. 

Neil locked eyes with Riko who had clearly stayed to watch and advanced on him quickly, the coward ran. Engle, who was still on the ground with a bloody nose from where Neil had kicked him earlier noticed Neil was now armed and had started to crawl away. With his makeshift weapon the redhead slashed with a purpose to maim severing the boy’s Achilles with one swift motion, uncaring the ceramic dug deep into his own palm.

Reacher who was trying to skirt around the other bed froze like a deer in headlights upon realizing he now had Neil’s full attention. He struck, dropping the shard, and picking up the desk chair. Neil brought it down hard onto the older boy’s left elbow with a sickening crack. The resulting howl was music to his ears.

“Get him the fuck out of my sight,” Neil said and pointed at Engle who was now writhing on the ground clutching his ankle. “You have thirty-seconds if you want to live past tonight.”

Neil didn’t bother waiting for a response. He turned his attention to Jean who was still staring at the ceiling unseeing. He was at a loss. The redhead didn’t want to touch him for fear it’d make the situation worse, but they couldn’t stay here. No doubt Riko had already run to his uncle to tattle on them.

“Shit,” Neil swore.

First things first, he set about getting Jean clothed. He grabbed the first pair of sweats he could find and the taller boys’ track jacket from the floor. Trying to touch the other boy as little as possible he managed to get him covered. Then he paused, hands hovering uselessly over his body. He had no idea what to do next. Grabbing his emergency burner phone he dialed the familiar number.

“Thought you said text communication was req—”

“An-Andrew, I—” Neil stuttered.

“What the fuck happened, you sound like you smoke six packs a day,” Andrew said sharply. 

“I-I can’t, I need your help. Your thera—Bee, I need Bee’s advice…”

“Neil, tell me what the fuck is going on,” Andrew growled.

“Th-there’s no time, c-can you help me or not? I need her number,” Neil said, hand still frozen over Jean’s comatose body.

“You owe me.”

“Nothing is free in this world Andrew, but right now I’m wiling to take that risk. The number, now.”

Andrew hung up and a second later Neil’s phone buzzed with the text containing Bee’s number. Neil checked the time, almost five minutes had passed already, he needed to hurry. The line rang.

“Hello?” a warm, sleepy voice answered.

“Dr. Dobson?” Neil asked.

“This is she, who is this?”

Neil swallowed, “This is Neil Josten ma’am, I got your number from Andrew. I have a bit of a situation and could use your professional advice. I’d like minimize the trauma as much as possible.”

“Are you hurt? Can I send help?”

“Doctor, you treat Kevin Day, I’m sure you can imagine the type of trouble I’m in. As much as I appreciate the offer there is nothing you can do without endangering a lot of people,” Neil explained. “I’m not in a secure location and need to get my friend moving under his own power. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Betsy affirmed. “How can I help?”

“He’s essentially catatonic, like he retreated into his mind,” Neil described. “His body is here, but his mind is elsewhere. I got him dressed and tried to touch him as little as possible.”

“That’s good Neil, you did good,” Betsy praised. “Here’s what I want you to do next…”

Neil followed her instructions to continue avoiding any physical contact. He spoke quietly and calmly in French while turning on all the remaining lights in the room. After what felt like an eternity, Jean blinked.

“I think it’s working,” Neil said.

“That’s wonderful news,” Betsy replied. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but if you need to get somewhere safe before you can address the trigger now’s the time.”

“Thank you,” Neil whispered, watching closely as Jean came to. “I can’t thank you enough. If you can put a good word in to Andrew for me so he doesn’t drive up here to kill me after all this I’d be eternally grateful.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dr. Dobson replied. “And Neil? Stay safe.”

Neil clicked his phone shut and kneeled next to the bed.

“W-what happened?” Jean said, dazedly.

“I’ll explain later, but we need to move Jean. I can’t protect us here,” Neil said frantically. “Can you stand?”

“I-I think so,” Jean replied, and attempted to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He managed to gain his feet, albeit slowly.

“Can I touch you?” Neil asked, hand half raised to wrap around him. Jean nodded and though he tensed under the touch he didn’t shy away. Fortunately it was late enough they didn’t run into anybody along the painful journey to East Tower. Neil propped Jean against the elevator wall and pulled out his phone again.

“This had better be important,” a slightly accented voice answered.

“Section E, Clause IV of my contract.”

“That explains the breech notification I just got,” the other male said. “What are we looking at?”

“Damage control and interference,” Neil stated. 

“Bodies?”

“None yet.”

“Initiate code delta, I’ll be in touch.”

The door dinged to indicate they’d arrived at the suite. Neil ushered Jean to the bathroom and helped him settle on the toilet seat. He turned on the tap and ran out to switch the security system to code delta as instructed. By design it should keep out anyone without the authorization codes to override it. Satisfied he could do no more, Neil returned to Jean.

“Dr. Dobson said a warm bath or shower might help you recover faster,” Neil explained. “I don’t want to test your ability to stand on your own and I’m pretty sure it’d be a terrible idea for me to be in there with you right now while you're still feeling so raw...anyway tub it is.”

“N-Neil I,” Jean tried to speak.

“Not now, do you trust me?”

“Better the devil you know,” Jean teased. Neil nearly cried with relief.

“Better the devil than a Frenchman,” Neil sniped right back. “Jean, look at me.”

Dull grey eyes bore into blue. “I promise you, what happened tonight will never happen again. If someone even looks at you wrong, I want to know about it. Do you hear me?”

Jean nodded and bit his lower lip.

“I’m serious Jean, enough is enough,” Neil stated. “Physical pain is one thing, but this? This is too far. You once asked me why the older Moriyama brother would call you, tonight you’ll get that answer. But for now, I want you to have a nice long soak.”

“Ok,” Jean agreed. “And Neil?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” he said fiercely.

“I know I said we’d discuss it later, but there is one thing I want you to know right now.”

Jean looked over inquisitively at where Neil had paused by the door. 

“They didn’t get that far,” the redhead stated and Jean’s look of relief was a balm to Neil’s own frayed nerves. He issued a final warning before shutting the door softly behind him. “Don’t drown.”

**-POV Shift-**

Ichirou stepped off the elevator not sure what he was expecting to find after Nathaniel’s hurried call, but it was not this. He turned around the corner of the foyer and stopped. Nathaniel was turned away from him standing absentmindedly by the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the stadium. The juxtaposition of the boy’s state surrounded by such opulence was startling.

He hadn’t seen the boy since he was a nobody hiding out in some backwater town in Arizona. Nathaniel’s new coloring was striking; the red hair clashing strongly against the dark glass. However it was his state of undress that froze him in place. 

Nathaniel was still as statue wearing only a baggy long sleeve shirt that clearly didn’t belong to him. It was difficult to say whether he had anything on underneath. One of the boy’s forearms was pressed above his head where he was leaning, his other held an empty tumbler dangling loosely from his fingertips. A steady drip of blood falling, unheeded, from his hand. As he turned, Ichirou felt a spike of anger.

Livid rings of bruises stood out darkly against the pale skin of his neck. It was obvious as to what caused them, someone had tried to choke the breath right out of the redhead. Then he noticed the tattoo. They dared mark what was his, outrage surged strong and fierce.

 _Mine_ , his mind screamed.

So as not to startle the boy, he pointedly removed his outer jacket and tossed it across the sectional. The redhead tensed as if poised for a fight and then relaxed marginally upon recognizing the intruder.

“My lord,” he greeted hoarsely.

Ichirou clenched his fists to avoid punching the nearest thing, the abused voice grated on his nerves.

“Nathaniel," the young lord acknowledged with a slight incline of his head.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come in person,” the boy said, with a wan smile. “Thought you were in New York.”

The older Moriyama brother flicked an invisible piece of lint off his dress shirt, “Usually I am, but I had a bit of business in the area. Figured I’d drop in and see how my investment was doing. Perhaps you’d like to get dressed first?”

Clearly the redhead had no idea the state of his undress as a beautiful flush crawled up his neck. Nathaniel was quite obviously embarrassed and completely unaware of the picture he presented. Ichirou wondered if it was shock from the earlier incident or if it was a result of single minded focus: survive, protect, and defend that distracted the boy so.

“I-I’m so sorry sir, I—”

“Nathaniel,” Ichirou said forcefully.

The boy immediately bowed his head. The young crime lord still doubted whether he was truly submissive and had a feeling it was more a show than anything.

“You’re bleeding all over my very expensive Persian rug, let’s get you cleaned up shall we?” Ichirou leaned forward to grab the boy by his elbow when a sudden burst of movement had his bodyguards drawing their weapons.

 _Ah the oldest Moreau child_ , his mind suppled. 

“Don’t touch him,” the dark haired boy snapped.

Nathaniel full body flinched and quickly lunged putting himself physically between the guns now pointed at the taller boy. Ichirou’s hand twitched to yank him back. The two made a pretty sight, dark and light, tall and short. Jealousy flared hot and heavy. Ichirou watched as the older boy recognized the possession in his gaze, sidling even closer to the redhead.

“Enough, put the guns away,” he ordered his men. They reluctantly complied, unsure if the threat had really passed. “Nathaniel, come here.”

He was pleased when the boy didn’t hesitate to obey. 

“Follow me,” Ichirou said and motioned for the two athletes to precede him. 

He led them to the master bedroom where he typically stayed when he was within a hundred mile radius of the campus. It was kept fully stocked at all times. Nathaniel was looking around with curiosity. Ichirou speculated the boy showed consideration for his boundaries and stayed only to the public areas of the suite on the rare occasions when he chose to retreat up here. It was a refreshing change from the men he was used to dealing with. Ignoring the other hulking figure he went to the chest of drawers and selected an outfit for Nathaniel.

“Here,” he said and handed the redhead the clothes. “My ensuite bathroom is just through the walk-in closet, this way.”

The boys trailed dutifully behind him. It was strange to see Nathaniel so quiet, the kid was normally all fire and ice. He supposed it was appropriate how even his image now fit the montage. Upon entering the bathroom, Ichirou leaned into the massive shower to turn it on, letting the water warm. He then pivoted to face the boy and indicated for him to place his injured hand out.

“Hmmm,” he said, probing the wound. “This’ll probably need stitches, but it can wait till after you’ve rinsed off.”

Ichirou looked expectantly at the redhead waiting for him to remove his ruined shirt. It was irritating how he looked to the Moreau boy first before grabbing the hem and stripping it off in a jerky motion. Ichirou stopped the boy from getting into the shower with a touch to his arm; he catalogued the damage.

It wasn’t the old scars that drew his attention though there were many: cigarette burns, road rash, a bullet wound, even something that looked like half a hot iron on his shoulder. It was the newer ones that hurt the most. A still healing cut on his thigh, love bites littering his torso and groin, and a myriad of colors from shoulders to calves. These were the ones he received here, under his uncle’s care. It was an uncomfortable feeling knowing he played some part in it, however small. Finished with his assessment, Ichirou gave a sharp nod and left the two boys to tend one another.

Ichirou poured himself a drink on his way past the bar to speak with his bodyguards. A sharp trilling noise from his phone stopped him short. He smiled.

“Ah, it appears my uncle is demanding entrance,” he drawled. “I think we should let him sweat it out a little. Don’t you agree boys?”

Both his guards nodded, reflecting his sinister grin. Ichirou was saved the task of summoning him, but it did little to lessen his anger. He quickly threw back the drink and went to pour himself another while he waited.

Maybe a quarter of an hour later a much more presentable Nathaniel walked out of his bedroom. His skin was still slightly pink from the heat of the water and his hair curled teasingly around the base of his neck and ears.

“Much better,” Ichirou praised causing to boy to flush even darker. “What say you finally tell me what caused you to trip the safety clause of your contract?”

“Of course, my lord,” Nathaniel replied in Japanese.

Ichirou preened at hearing his mother tongue coming from the boy’s mouth, “You’ve improved.”

“Thank you sir, must be osmosis or something,” the boy said, sarcastically. The young Moriyama lord was pleased the redhead seemed to be recovering some of his spirit.

“I don’t think that principal applies Nathaniel, but the sentiment I suppose is true enough,” Ichirou allowed. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

**-POV Shift-**

Neil sat a few feet from the young lord perching on the edge of the sofa with Jean choosing to stand directly behind him. He studied the older boy and recalled their first meeting.

**-Flashback-**

The bell sounded at the end of his last class, it had been a couple of days since his uncle sent the text informing him ‘it’s done’. He was anxiously waiting for something to happen. Neil followed the crush of rowdy students out of the building and down the stairs. He made it only a short distance away from the school before someone moved into his path.

Neil was used to dodging bodies on the court so he neatly sidestepped and kept going. The man spoke on Neil’s way by.

“You will stop.”

Neil didn’t think the man was talking to him, but looking back was instinctive. He regretted it immediately and rocked to a sudden halt. The man who’d spoke was Japanese, older than the oblivious students flowing past but dressed casually enough to not stand out. He considered Neil like a bug under a microscope, a nuisance.

“We are leaving,” the man said, not an invitation but an order.

Neil almost asked where they were going but thought better of it at the last second. He’d been anticipating something like this for days. He followed the stranger to the parking lot where a car idled at the curb. Neil was quickly ushered into the backseat by his escort who slammed the door shut behind him and claimed his own seat in the front.

No one said a word. Neil stared out the window keeping track of their whereabouts in case they left him stranded. They took him to an abandoned feed mill on the far side of town. Neil saw parked cars and a few dilapidated pieces of equipment, but no people. He would’ve preferred some witnesses in case things went south.

There was a sleek looking vehicle parked a little further off, isolated from the rest. The driver pulled up alongside it and killed the engine, but no one moved. Neil took the hint after a minute of tense silence and got out. The door opposite him was unlocked. Though he knew in theory who’d be on the other side Neil hesitated to open the door. He steeled his nerves and pulled.

At first glance, Ichirou Moriyama didn’t look like much. His black silk suit spoke of excessive wealth, but his youthful features undermined that pretentiousness. He had only a couple a years on Neil and genetics made him look even younger. He was just another hopeful businessman, maybe, another rich kid CEO living life in the vertical fast lane. Neil was fooled for all of half a second: the moment it took him to meet Ichirou’s eyes across the backseat.

This man was not like Neil’s father, with his temper and thugs and ugly reputation. He was not like Riko, with his selfish cruelty and childish tantrums. This was a man who could hold both of them in check with a glance, a man who’d been raised to rule from the cradle. He was the Moriyamas’ power in living, breathing form, and their future.

Neil considered turning around and walking away but figured that was a good way to get shot in the back. He knew one misstep meant his uncle’s tentative truce in setting up this meeting would be void. Neil pawed desperately at his memory, searching for any advice on how to handle this encounter. He couldn’t face Ichirou as Neil Josten; he had to face Ichirou as a Wesninski would. That meant every word needed to be true. A last minute decision had him tossing away his contacts.

Neil swallowed his doubts and the first flicker of panic and said, very carefully, “May I come in?”

Ichirou flicked two fingers in silent command, and Neil climbed into the car. He closed the door firmly but quietly and fixed his stare on Ichirou’s shoulder.

“I take it you know who I am, considering it was by your arrangements I ended up in this god-forsaken town,” Ichirou stated, blandly.

“Yes,” Neil said, and faltered for a second as he grasped at a proper title. ‘Sir’ didn’t have the necessary respect, but Kengo was still alive so it’d presumptuous to call him ‘lord’. It was an outdated and clumsy term but it somehow seemed fitting if Neil was to proceed as planned. “Lord Moriyama.”

Ichirou laughed, startling the brunette. “I see you are just as forward as your father.”

“I’m no-one least of all my father,” Neil stated, finally daring to meet the other man’s stare.

“Ah, but it appears you do share his eyes. This pleases me,” Ichirou purred. “However, I am a busy man. I’ve word from your uncle you have a proposition for me and I like to know the value of things before I throw them away.”

“I have no value now,” Neil said, “but if given the time and chance to do so I would repay your family for the inconveniences my mother and I caused.”

“And how pray-tell do you plan to do that?” Ichirou asked, with a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Exy,” Neil began, “the average professional Exy player makes three million dollars a year. I don’t need that kind of money for myself. Let me donate it to your family instead. I can route it through whichever holdings and charities you stand to inherit.”

“A rather obvious attempt to buy your safety,” Ichirou said. “Why bring this to me and not my father?”

Neil swallowed nervously. This was the most precarious part of his plan, it bordered on insubordination and possibly betrayal depending on how the young lord took it but it was too late for subtlety, “He’s dying.”

Ichirou’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward into Neil’s space, fingers steepled against his lips, “Those are dangerous words.”

The threat didn’t need to be said, Ichirou’s eyes screamed murder.

“I understand,” Neil was quick to agree, “but the words are true nevertheless and if rumors are to be believed you had a hand in speeding up the process. Only a few months ago your father’s name was removed from the short donor list for a new liver. Curious isn’t it? Seeing as how his most recent blood tests were worse than ever, the ones on record though…he appears in peak physical health.”

“That’s a heavy accusation Nathaniel,” Ichirou said but for some reason Neil thought his expression looked intrigued.

“Does that sufficiently answer your question?” Neil asked.

Ichirou inclined his head in acknowledgement, “Your uncle mentioned you had something else for me.”

“I do my lord,” Neil said. “When I was researching your family upon learning of the transgressions my mother made against them I discovered something interesting. Your brother—”

“Riko,” Ichirou supplied.

“Yes him, along with your uncle,” Neil started. “They’ve been abusing the privileges associated with carrying the Moriyama name for some time now, but that’s not news to you.”

“Go on.”

“Interesting how high the turnover rate is for campus security at such a prestigious university,” Neil said. “A few too many undeserved ‘promotions’ and sudden ‘resignations’ due to family emergencies…”

“Get to the point,” Ichirou ordered.

“You are trying to get someone on the inside,” Neil surmised. Since Ichirou didn’t correct him, he continued, “What better person than a contracted player?”

“I’m listening.”

“I can’t just go pro, it’s unrealistic, I need exposure and experience,” Neil stated. “I’m proposing I get recruited by Edgar Allan.”

Ichirou scoffed, “You? And should they deem you unworthy?”

“They’ll recruit me regardless, if only to get their hands on Nathaniel Wesninski,” Neil said, boldly. “Even if Exy plays a role or not after college, I plan to pay your family back. I can major in foreign languages and minor in something business related, likely accounting since I’m good with numbers. I can serve your family in an official capacity as a translator or however you’d like post graduation.”

“Let me get this straight,” Ichirou said. “If all goes to plan you will sign with the Ravens and be my person. Upon securing a pro contract you will forfeit the majority of your earnings to whichever holdings I designate and if not you will serve me in whatever capacity I decide.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And should I shoot you right now and wash my hands of it all?” Ichirou asked, his grin positively feral.

“That is your prerogative, some might say you were merciful,” Neil allowed and shrugged his shoulders.

The younger boy was startled when Ichirou suddenly laughed and grabbed his chin in a bruising grip. Neil hardly dared to breathe as the little lord studied his eyes. There was a hidden emotion there, something Neil struggled to interpret, _was it interest or amusement?_

“Very smart of you Nathaniel. I am nothing if not a businessman at heart, it would be foolish of me to turn down such a potentially lucrative investment,” Ichirou said, still close enough Neil could feel his breath on his face. “What do you want in return?”

“Some assurances,” Neil said.

“How so?”

“Your brother and uncle have some proclivities I’m a bit troubled over,” Neil explained. “I’d like you to use your influence to build a safety clause into my contract.”

“I’m interested. What are you hoping to get out of it?” Ichirou asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll walk out of there unscathed,” Neil began, “but I’d like some leeway to fight back if my limit is reached.”

Ichirou indicated for him to continue with a lazy flick of his wrist.

“I’d like it to say something along these lines,” Neil said and slowly, as if to telegraph his moves, reached into his backpack securing the file. He held it out for the young lord open to the highlighted passage.

_Section E, Clause IV_

_The designee of this contract is hereby authorized to take any and all necessary action to protect his/herself and/or anyone they deem under their protection from excessive forms of violence equal, but not limited to, assault, battery, and rape. The above actions are to result in no repercussions or persecution after the fact. Any injuries/deaths sustained by all parties involved are to fall under the non-disclosure agreement s_ _ection G,_ _clause III._

“Clever,” Ichirou commended. “It’s just vague enough you can literally get away with murder.”

“I doubt it would hold up in a court of law,” Neil stated. “However, if things go according to plan and your brother escalates I have a way to defend myself.”

Ichirou dug his hand hard into Neil’s thigh. “It sounds like being my spy isn’t the only thing you are proposing.”

“Riko was a mistake,” Neil said, and the young lord eased up on his grip so he took that as a signal to continue. “He’s a second son in a family only allowed to have one, a contingency plan. Only he’s no longer necessary is he?”

Ichirou smiled, all teeth, his coal black eyes burning, “No, he is not.”

They both knew to what he was referring. Ichirou’s wife, who was hidden away from the public’s eye, gave birth to a son only weeks ago. He had secured his heir, Riko was no longer valued even as a spare.

“Riko has spent his entire life aiming to be the best player on the court,” Neil said. “When he feels his superiority is threatened he lashes out without concern for collateral damage. This past year alone is proof of his increasing instability.”

“Kevin Day was your uncle’s second largest investment, but Riko destroyed him over injured pride. At the start of his sophomore year Kevin had a seven-digit net worth between his professional contract, his spot on the national team, and his endorsements. He could’ve earned your family fifteen to twenty-million a year after graduation. Now it’ll be a miracle if he ever takes the court again.”

“If properly handled, I can give you a legitimate excuse to execute him within my first two years of joining Edgar Allan,” Neil offered. “In return I’d like the ability to renegotiate the terms of my agreement with you after my fifth year in the pros or fifth year under your service.”

“Listen very carefully Nathaniel,” Ichirou ordered. “Where I come from, a man’s word is only as good as his name and his name earns weight from the blood he has spilled for my family. You are untested and untrue. You are not worth the air you breathe. I would balance the red in my ledger with your death and consider it a fair repayment.”

Neil gulped, his breath catching in the back of his throat.

“However,” Ichirou continued, “you are your father’s son, and your father is someone to me. He is the reason I came down here myself when I could’ve sent anyone to speak with you. Even your uncle’s influence only goes so far. Do you know what I will do to you if I think you are wasting my time? Do you know what I will do to anyone you have ever met or spoken to? I will kill everyone who has ever stood by you and I will make each death last a lifetime.”

It didn’t sound like a threat; it sounded like a promise.

“What can I do to convince you I’m telling the truth?” Neil asked.

“Nothing,” Ichirou said, and barked a few harsh words in Japanese to the two men seated up front.

The front passenger pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Neil could only understand every third word or so, not having progressed far enough in his online Japanese courses to process the fast speech. He could understand the angry tone just fine though. For a wild moment he thought the man was arranging messy deaths for all of the Hatfords. Neil clenched his teeth against a spike of panic and stared blankly into space. The conversation went back and forth for several minutes, then the passenger hung up and put his phone away. His tone was deferential when he turned to speak with Ichirou

Whatever the news was, Ichirou’s expression didn’t change. He tapped his thumb idly on his ankle as he thought. Neil didn’t know how long they sat their in silence, ten minutes or ten lifetimes, but he was sure he’d die before the young lord made up his mind.

“Perhaps your life has a price tag after all,” Ichirou said. “If you fail me at any point, the deal is forfeit and you will be executed. Do you understand?”

“I will not fail you,” Neil promised.

Ichirou slanted a hooded look at him, “That remains to be seen, someone will be in touch.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re dismissed.”

It was so abrupt Neil scrambled to re-zip his backpack and exit the car with some form of dignity. He wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded. He closed the door behind him and both drivers cut the engines on. Neil stood stock still as the small army of cars pulled away, rolling out of sight. Knowing they were gone did nothing to make him feel safer and Neil sank to his knees on the asphalt. He scratched his nails into the taut denim over his thighs and fought to get his racing heart under control. 

**-Present Day-**

“I had to use the clause,” Neil said.

Ichirou crossed his legs, “That much is obvious Nathaniel. I want to know why my uncle is blowing up my phone requesting access to join us.”

Neil flinched, he was hoping to avoid a direct confrontation with the older man. Jean placed a light hand on his shoulder, which for some reason caused Ichirou to glower. 

The redhead took a deep breath and began, “Practice ran long today so Jean and I grabbed a late dinner…”

Neil spared no details and at the end saw Ichirou bouncing his ankle in agitation where it rested on his opposite knee.

“I see,” he said. “And how can I help mitigate this situation?”

“I’d like a door that locks from the inside installed within twenty-four hours on our dorm room,” Neil stated.

“Done.”

“The abusers, should they recover from their injuries enough to stay on as players I’d like leverage to keep them under control, a person on their families at all times or something to that effect.” 

“Done.”

“If you could explain to your uncle that under no uncertain terms we belong to the main branch, that’d go a long way in helping to prevent any future transgressions of this nature,” Neil said.

Ichirou cocked his head in a teasing manner, “Anything else?”

There was one more thing Neil really wanted to ask for but was unsure of how far to push tonight.

“I can see you want something else Nathaniel, spit it out.”

Neil glanced back at his partner, determined. “I’d like for Jean to start weekly therapy sessions with PSU’s psychiatrist, Dr. Betsy Dobson, contingent on her signing a non-disclosure agreement.”

“What?” Jean shouted, squeezing Neil’s shoulder.

Ichirou seemed content to watch them figure it out amongst themselves. “You were practically dead Jean, you weren’t even blinking. What happens if something triggers that sort of response on the court? Or behind the wheel? You could get seriously injured.”

“Not because I’m a liability to you in a game?” Jean asked heatedly.

“No of course not Jean,” Neil argued. “I just want you to be safe and Betsy really helped me to get through to you tonight. I think she can help, but it’s ultimately your choice. If after the first six sessions you’d like to end it at any point I’ll accept it no questions asked.”

Jean mulled it over, Neil could practically see the gears turning inside his head.

“Fine.”

“Do I have your consent my lord?” Neil asked.

“If she signs the paperwork, I’ll allow it,” Ichirou agreed. “However, young Moreau my family’s business is off limits. Under no circumstances are you to provide information on the main branch’s activities. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Very well, would you like to ask for a pony now Nathaniel?” Ichirou teased.

“No, but I’d kill for a pack of cigarettes,” Neil retorted causing Ichirou to laugh.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he accepted amicably. “Now let’s see what the old bastard wants. Do you want to stay for it?”

“No thank you my lord,” Neil replied and bit his lip.

“Now what?” Ichirou asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s just, you never named a price,” Neil said nervously.

Ichirou pondered for a moment before speaking, “This falls under your contract, it is my job to ensure the specifications are met. Consider it me holding up my end.”

Neil smiled, a genuine one for the first time that night. The same flicker of emotion he once saw at their first meeting was there again in Ichirou’s eyes. It was still something he didn’t understand so he shook his head and with a slight bow let Jean lead him to the elevator.

“You’re fucking oblivious,” Jean stated as they descended to the lobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Moly this is getting monstrous. This is an abnormally long chapter for me, but it didn't feel right to split it up. What do ya'll think of my Ichirou? He's a character I'm quickly becoming attached to. How do you think Andrew will react to Neil's late night phone call? Hope you all are as excited as I am to see where this story goes.


	9. Unexpected Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew gets a few unsatisfying answers and Neil gets a few surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of past rape/non-con, canon-typical violence, reference to past child abuse, and of course swearing

Andrew watched passively as Kevin repeatedly reset the cones for yet another Raven precision drill. It had been a long summer of witnessing the striker attempt to regain his skill before the start of the official season. Fortunately for his charge Andrew had little use for sleep, either plagued by nightmares or unable to shut off his brain. Whether it was due to the drugs coursing through his system, or not, was anybody’s guess.

Surprisingly it was the regular phone calls with his latest obsession which helped pass the time. Andrew recalled their last conversation, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

**-Flashback-**

“Junkie,” Andrew said by way of greeting. 

An exasperated sigh, “Andrew.”

“How’re the sixteen hour days treating you?” the blonde asked. The responding soft thump made Andrew think the teen had plopped down dramatically on a chair or bed. 

“At least I don’t have a choice, what’s your excuse? I have it on good authority Kevin has you playing chaperone all hours of the night.”

A spike of curiosity quickly whisked away by the drugs made Andrew wonder who Neil’s source of info was. He supposed it was more likely someone was watching their movements to and from the dorm rather than a traitor in their midst.

“Haven’t you heard Neil?” Andrew asked. “I’m a vampire. No need to eat or sleep. My drugs are actually appetite suppressants meant to curb my need to drink human blood.” A quiet chuckle on the other end sent a slight thrill through Andrew at being the cause. 

“Yes, well if that is the case, I have a few humans I wouldn’t mind sacrificing to satiate your hunger. Some of which I think you’d have no objection to draining dry, unless being a shitty excuse for a person makes them taste bad,” Neil mused aloud.

Andrew took another slow drag of his cigarette and tracked a lazy cloud across the full moon with his eyes. He was once again on the roof avoiding his twin’s mulish stare and Nicky’s incessant babbling. “Not sure, perhaps Renee and I can discuss it instead of our usual zombie apocalypse debate next time.” 

“Sounds riveting,” Neil agreed. “I’d love to read a dossier on your supposed plan, but I guess that’ll have to wait until we can meet in person. Unless you have it in PDF form; I’d pay money to see what our content monitors make of it, they’d probably waste weeks thinking it’s some coded document and attempt to dismantle it in vain.”

Andrew frowned, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. “Spyware?”

“Yeah,” Neil confirmed. “On all the laptops and on the cell phones of those allowed them. I can bypass the internet security easily enough, but any non-approved sites are logged and reported to an external cyber security company owned by the Moriyamas. Same thing if I disabled it, hence the burner phone.”

“What the hell do you do to entertain yourselves?” Andrew asked. “If you say Exy, this conversation ends now.”

Silence.

“Neil?”

“What?” He asked crossly. “You said if I answered Exy we’d be done talking, and I’m not ready to hangup plus we haven’t played our truth game yet. Actually, I think my spyware admission should count as your first question.”

Andrew felt that uncomfortable flutter again which seemed to be uniquely associated with Neil. “Fine, I’ll allow it.”

“Your armbands, is that your slow attempt at suicide or do you actually have sheathes built into them?” Neil asked.

“Yes.”

“How many knives do you carry?”

“Enough,” Andrew admitted vaguely. “My turn, you and Moreau?”

“What about us?” Neil asked, confused.

“You together or something?” Andrew asked, voice betraying no emotion. A flicker of annoyance came when Neil laughed.

“Ask Kevin about it, the whole partner thing,” Neil stated, a smile still in his voice. “I don’t know how to explain it. I’m sure Bee would have some psych mumbo jumbo to label it, but to put it simply he watches my back and I watch his. I doubt I’d have survived long in here without him. This environment creates unusual bonds, some good, some bad. Jean, he’s a good one.”

As much as Andrew wanted to poke further, he was satisfied for now with Neil’s explanation. At least he knew why they were always together and as far as he could tell it wasn’t sexual or romantic in any way.

“Are your knives the only things your sleeves conceal?” Neil asked.

Andrew lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. “What makes you think otherwise?”

A contemplative silence, “The first time we met, you held a knife to my throat and I made a flippant comment about how perhaps I didn’t want to live; you glanced down at your forearms. It was brief, but I’m not sure you did it consciously.”

 _Observant bastard,_ Andrew thought.

“I don’t think you’re the type to fail at killing yourself, but it made me curious as to whether you might carry some scars of your own,” Neil continued astutely.

Andrew slowly peeled back an armband, carefully avoiding the two knives stashed inside, and looked down at the mangled flesh. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“No.”

“If it wasn’t a suicide attempt—ah,” Neil pondered aloud before trailing off. It was clear he’d figured something out.

The blonde fingered a knife reflexively as he waited to see if Neil was going to share his epiphany. He quickly grew tired of waiting, “What is it junkie? Did you suddenly have a revelation?” Andrew had a feeling the redhead was nodding on the other end, “Neil this isn’t a video call, use your words.” 

“Oh, sorry…sometimes I get lost in my head,” Neil said sheepishly. “I just made the connection between something in your file and your admission of scars, though it doesn’t seem fair somehow.”

Andrew felt a spike of irritation knowing Riko had dug so deeply into his past. “Whatever it is you think you know, you don’t, so shut up or I’m ending this call.”

“Okay,” Neil said gently.

“If you feel it’s unbalanced I want my file destroyed in exchange, think you can manage that?” Andrew proposed.

A short pause, “Yes.”

Neil went quiet on the other end and for once Andrew didn’t hear the murmuring of French in the background. _Had the other boy sent Moreau away so it would remain private?_ The blonde wondered. Andrew grunted, suddenly itching for something stronger than nicotine. He wanted to tear something to shreds and felt his cigarette carton, now empty, crumple in his hand.

“You’re quite the gifted clairvoyant Neil, shame it’s only an audience of two tonight,” Andrew prodded.

“An audience of one,” Neil corrected, responding easily to Andrew's bait which confirmed his earlier guess. “After our second conversation, I decided it best we speak alone. Though I harbor few secrets from Jean, yours are another matter entirely. It didn’t seem fair that he got yours for free by proxy.”

A wave of relief penetrated his artificial high.

“Andrew?”

“Yes?”

“For the record, I don’t view your scars as something to pity,” Neil said. “You still have my respect. If anything, I’m angry at the people who made them necessary, though I have a feeling you couldn't care less what I think.”

“Damn straight, Junkie.” Andrew agreed. “Now are you finally going to shut up so I can ask my next question?”

Neil chuckled, "go ahead."

“Which way do you swing?” 

“I”m sorry, what?”

“Swing Neil,” Andrew reiterated as if speaking to a child. “As in sex Neil, boys, girls, both?”

“Oh,” A startled sound. “Ummmm I don’t swing.”

“I thought we agreed not to tell lies Neil,” the blonde said. It was starting to get cold on the roof so Andrew chose to move into the stairwell now that he was out of cigarettes for the evening.

“I’m not lying,” Neil tried to explain. “I—I my mom, she viewed entanglements as dangerous. Anytime I so much as looked at another person with interest…well it wasn’t good.”

“Did she hit you?” Andrew said, unable to keep the dangerous glint out of his voice.

“It wasn’t like th-that,” Neil stuttered. “She was just trying to teach me.”

“Says the boy who supposedly understands why I had to kill my own mother,” Andrew said sarcastically.

“Andrew,” Neil whispered pathetically and the blonde felt a flicker of incense, surprised at the vehemence at which it came. 

“How many of those scars are from her?” Andrew asked without mercy.

“I-I don’t—”

“Stop,” Andrew cut off his pitiful attempts. He had his answer, too many, that’s how many she was responsible for. He was painfully familiar with recognizing defensiveness when he heard it thanks to his own twin’s attempts at justifying Tilda’s actions. “So you don’t swing because your mother abused you before you had a chance to find out.”

A stilted breath, “I d-don’t know. I don’t know how much was a result of my upbringing or if I was always this way, but I’m just not attracted to people in the normal sense.”

“But you do feel attraction?” Andrew asked. He could practically picture Neil’s brow furrowed in consideration.

“Yes.”

 _Perhaps on the asexual spectrum,_ Andrew guessed.

“Maybe we should end it here for tonight,” Andrew suggested.

“Y-yes, I think you’re right,” Neil mumbled. “Goodnight Andrew.”

A soft click signaled the end.

**—Present Day—**

That was a little over a week ago, Andrew recalled, he hadn’t heard from the little birdie since. He tracked the movements of Kevin below assuring the boy was still in no danger other than from himself, when his phone rang.

 _Speak of the devil,_ Andrew mused.

“Thought you said text communication was req—” 

“An-Andrew, I—” Neil stuttered. The blonde immediately felt his hackles rise.

“What the fuck happened, you sound like you smoke six packs a day,” Andrew said sharply, picking up on the raspy quality of Neil’s voice. He knew from Kevin the Nest was obsessed with health so there was no way the redhead suddenly became a chainsmoker. 

“I-I can’t, I need your help. Your thera—Bee, I need Bee’s advice…”

“Neil, tell me what the fuck is going on,” Andrew growled, grinding his teeth.

“Th-there’s no time, c-can you help me or not? I need her number,” Neil said, and Andrew could feel the tension on the other line through the phone. 

“You owe me.”

“Nothing is free in this world Andrew, but right now I’m wiling to take that risk. The number, now.” Neil said, sounding exhausted and all too worn down for Andrew’s liking.

Andrew hung up and immediately typed out a text to Neil with Bee’s number and then sent another to warn her he’d be calling adding a request she get ahold of him after. Unable to sit still he began to pace amongst the bleachers, while Kevin remained unaware below. It felt like an eternity until his phone rang again.

“Bee, what the fuck is going on?” Andrew snarled.

“He said you’d be upset with him,” Bee replied. Not quite the answer he was looking for.

“Bee…” He warned.

“I know, I apologize that was rather rude of me,” Bee allowed. “I can’t say much for our conversation was distressingly brief. Your friend—”

“Not my friend,” Andrew interjected. “Also, they aren't your clients so don’t feed me some bullshit patient-doctor confidentiality crap.”

“Your friend,” Bee continued, unbothered. “Neil, he wanted my advice for a teammate of his. It sounded like a dissociative episode caused by some sort of trauma, though he never said what triggered it specifically. Neil himself seemed detached in what I would classify as a type of defense mechanism, but otherwise unharmed. He actually asked me to speak on his behalf to make sure you didn’t do anything rash.”

The fondness was clear in her voice despite the situation. Andrew was frustrated underneath a layer of false mania. “Nothing else to add?”

“No, I’m sorry Andrew,” Bee apologized. “I’m afraid it was all very rushed and from what I could hear on the other end it was in French. I offered to send him help, but well, you know why he turned me down…he did say they weren’t safe, however. I think that’s why he needed my assistance. His friend was non-responsive and he needed a way to get him moving under his own power, he didn’t want to touch him or was unable to carry him. Perhaps both?”

 _Unwilling to touch him_ , Andrew contemplated. There were very a limited number of reasons the blonde could think of to trigger such an extreme response to physical touch. The picture those words painted was dark and he felt the urge to lash out at something, preferably a fiery redhead with a penchant for trouble. He looked down at the striker still absorbed on the court below an idea forming. 

“Thanks Bee,” Andrew said. “If he calls back will you let me know?”

“Of course Andrew, get some rest,” Bee said kindly. “And text me if you’d like to set up an extra session this week.”

Andrew stowed his phone and stalked toward the court door, unlocking it and stepping inside uncaring for his lack of armor. He slid one of his knives out and approached the taller boy who had now paused in his drills to stare at him wide eyed.

“And-Andrew, w-what?” Kevin began.

Andrew yanked him down by his jersey and swept his legs out from under him, knocking him to the floor. He ripped the chin strap open and pulled off the terrified boy’s helmet. The point of his knife came to rest right under Kevin’s jaw as he straddled him.

“Oh Kev, Kevin Day, striker extraordinaire, number two, phoenix rising from the ashes of a career ending industry, what are we to do with you?” Andrew began. “Oops, almost forgot the most important one…liar.”

Kevin blanched, “I don’t understand.”

“Riko,” Andrew stated.

The striker full body flinched causing a trickle of blood to flow from under Andrew’s blade.

“Wh-what about him?”

“You promised never to lie to me Kevin, makes it very hard to do my job.” 

“I haven’t lied,” Kevin whined pathetically.

“Really? Hazing, the occasional prank, Tetsuji’s heavy hand…” Andrew started. “Yes, that’s how you described it; the violence at the Nest. Would you like to elaborate any of those statements?”

“I-I—”

“Careful Kevin, you are in a very precarious position right now.” Andrew said and pressed the blade down a little harder til blood began to flow again.

“You won’t seriously hurt me, it’d break our deal,” Kevin said bravely, but the pulse beneath Andrew’s fingertips told him something else entirely.

“Answer the question Kevin,” Andrew said, quickly growing bored.

“It wasn’t—I didn’t know,” Kevin said. “I mainly kept to our room, I mean I heard things…”

“Like what?” Andrew asked. “Like what could possibly cause a man of Jean Moreau’s stature to follow Riko around like a meek puppy?”

“How do you—is he ok?” Kevin asked, green eyes filled with worry.

“What do you know?”

“It was one time, Riko was growing weary of the usual methods,” Kevin began, swallowing thickly. “He dragged me to Jean’s room, told me he’d show me something entertaining. When I walked in Jean was already on the bed, chest a bloody massacre. They ma-made me—”  
  
“Spit it out Day,” Andrew growled, a bit of his impatience showing through as his medicine wore off.

“They made me hold him down while they…” Kevin paused, “while they defiled him.”

“Raped him, you mean,” Andrew corrected.

The striker jerked like he’d been struck physically, but nodded. 

“You said once, but that’s not true is it?” Andrew asked. Kevin pinching his eyes tight was answer enough. He released the boy and stood up quickly unable to abide touching him a second longer. “We’re done for now, get your shit. If you aren’t in the car in ten I’m leaving without you.”

Kevin nearly fell in his haste to get away and Andrew felt the remnants of a manic grin tug at his lips; a sliver of satisfaction came at watching the boy run away in fear of him, of what he could do to him. But that feeling rapidly turned sour now knowing the reason Neil likely needed a licensed medical professional to get through to the linebacker tonight. That type of horror was a common theme as of late and it made his scars burn in remembrance.

**-POV Shift-**

Neil wasn’t surprised when he and Jean were called to Tetsuji’s office the next morning bright and early. It was best they got their stories straight before the first practice. By now the rumor mill was working overtime spinning tales about the two missing players.

“Come in,” Tetsuji shouted in response to Neil’s knock on the door. The two boys shared a look and then entered. 

“Good morning master,” Neil and Jean greeted.

“You both know very well why it’s not a good anything today,” the older Japanese man snapped in irritation. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“Nothing you haven’t already heard, I’m sure.” Neil retorted, uninterested in playing pretend. There was no longer any advantage to remaining quiet, if Ichirou had done as he requested last night Tetsuji was under no illusions who he, and by association Jean, belonged to. “You should be grateful there are no bodies to dispose of. After what they attempted, under your nephew’s orders I might add, I would be well within my rights to take their lives.”

Tetsuji’s cane came down with a sickening crack across Neil’s bicep, when he went to swing again, the redhead caught it. Brown met blue as they stared across the length of the cane.

“That’s enough,” Neil said. “I will tolerate you in public since you are our coach, but strike me or mine again in private and you’ll find I'm no longer afraid to strike back.”

“You whore,” the master growled. “You have no power here.”

“I think you’ll find that I do,” Neil said still grasping the cane firmly. “As I said though, you are our coach and I have no intentions of undermining you. The methods you use may be crude, but they are effective. It might be interesting to find out though how much better we can play when we aren’t battling numerous lacerations, bruises, and/or broken bones.”

The master ripped his walking cane free and returned to his original position behind the desk, "sit."

Seeing no reason not to comply Neil motioned for Jean to grab a chair.

“Our team of lawyers went over your contract first thing this morning and for now, it is incontestable, but don’t think I won’t find my own way to punish you,” Tetsuji warned. “However that is neither here nor there. You’ll discover in front of you a press release concerning the injuries sustained in yesterday’s altercation. Whether by design or accident the places you targeted are easy to account for with sports related accidents.”

Neil nodded, and hid a smile behind the document. Of course he aimed with purpose. Lola would be proud, Neil thought.

“Engle suffered a ruptured Achilles during an agility drill and Reacher shattered his elbow from the wayward blow of a racquet,” Tetsuji explained. “Both unfortunate incidents, but considering our recent district transfer this string of ‘bad luck’ will appease some of the more vocal protesters.”

“I understand master,” Neil acquiesced. “Is that all?”

Neil repressed a flinch as Tetsuji reached into a drawer for yet another file. Curiously he turned it toward the boys so they could read the title. Neil looked up in shock, it was his five year re-branding proposal for the Ravens he’d sent Ichirou shortly after his successful recruitment.

“This has recently come into my possession, rather rudimentary, but not without merit,” the older male admitted reluctantly. “I’m particularly interested in the social media section.”

“Yes, of course,” Neil replied. “It was my hope we could make some of the more talented players a bit more desirable in the current market. If you look at the charts on pages eight and nine the statistics for the national team shows Edgar Allan placing third behind the USC Trojans and Stanford for the most number of player selections. The other figures rank the categories for each player selected by importance. Number one being social media presence, followed closely by sponsorships and subsequently whether the general populace’s opinion is largely positive or not.”

“Indeed,” Tetsuji replied with a blank look. “So you see my interest then.”

“I do,” Neil affirmed. “I just don’t understand why now.”

“Perhaps this will help you to understand better,” Tetsuji said and slid across two identical boxes. “Open them.”

Neil slowly reached for the smallish packages, handing one to Jean. They peeled back in unison the cellophane wrapping and pulled up the sleek black lid. Inside nested brand new iPhones. Suddenly it clicked for Neil this was approval, and a gift, from both the main and side branch to at the very least pursue this part of his plan.

“I-I thank you, master.” Neil tacked on hastily. “And please express my gratitude to the main branch as well.”

Tetsuji inclined his head in acknowledgment. “This naturally does not come without strings attached, however per the Little Lord’s specifications only the social media accounts will be monitored for the two of you. If we find out you abuse this freedom, it will be removed immediately never to be returned. Is that clear?”

“Yes master, crystal.” Neil said along with Jean, a heartbeat behind him.

“You aren’t concerned about your father using this to find you?” Tetsuji asked, the undertone screamed threat.

“Why would I be?” Neil said rhetorically. “If he doesn’t already know my whereabouts through his own information network then he isn’t worthy of the collar he wears and if he poses a danger to me the leash your family claims to hold should be easy enough shorten.”

There was an implied insult there, but not enough Tetsuji could call him on it. This was a familiar dance to Neil who grew up a silent presence at the dinner parties while the adults cut with words not knives.

“Which other player’s, if you don’t mind my asking, will be joining the campaign?”

Tetsuji opened a file on his desk sliding a few photos to rest in from of them. “Jenkins will represent the females. The two of you will be joined by Johnson, Williams, and of course Riko. Do you have any objections?”

Neil thought for a moment before speaking, “I’d like to add Malakai to the list of males and Reyna to the females.”

“Why?”

“This may sound a bit calculating, but they are both of non-white descent and are freshmen,” Neil explained. “Right now the national team is lacking in diversity, as is the sport on a whole. If you factor in their youth they have a longer time to build a fanbase before the next Olympics.”

“I see,” the master hummed resting his elbows on the desk. “I’ll agree on the condition you personally train them up to par before the end of fall season. If you can make them capable of playing a full quarter by the winter banquet I’ll allow them to keep their social media accounts. If not, I’ll take all four of your phone privileges away.”

Neil looked at Jean, a small nod of consent was all he needed. “We agree.”

“Lovely,” Tetsuji clapped. “There are two more matters I’d like to discuss. First, after Friday’s game you will accompany Riko and myself to an interview on Kathy Ferdinand’s show Saturday morning for your debut. Jean will remain here to curb your tongue. Do you understand what that means?”

Neil swallowed thickly, “Yes master.”

“Second, there is the matter of your visage after last night’s misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding,” Neil scoffed.

“Now, now don’t overreact,” Tetsuji said, clicking his tongue in censure.

Neil wanted to punch him in his smug face and damn the consequences.

“As I was saying, we cannot allow you in public looking like… well—”

“Like we were assaulted and nearly raped?” Neil interjected hotly.

Tetsuji was lightning quick and got in a slap before Neil could block him. “Don’t you ever interrupt me again, but yes, by the time you return to your room from morning practices you will find your first week of outfits laid out along with a makeup kit. Jean is well acquainted with how to camouflage the damage until it fades.”

Jean clamped a hand over Neil’s mouth before he could explode out of turn again, and gave the affirmative he understood all that entailed.

“Good, now follow me,” Tetsuji said and abruptly stood from behind his desk.

Jean and Neil hesitantly trailed behind their coach as he led them through the winding halls of the Nest and up a final flight of stairs to the parking garage. The sudden blast of wind nearly took Neil’s breath away. He inhaled deeply closing his eyes. It was the first time he’d felt non-recycled air in months. Neil found himself beaming up at Jean, who held a similar expression of wonderment.

“Stop gawking like children, come here.” Tetsuji said, irritably. 

Neil stifled a giddy laugh and somberly closed the distance.

“I’ve been informed there’s been a lapse in distributing the usual perks of signing with Edgar Allan, these were overnighted to correct that oversight.” Tetsuji said and swept his arm out.

Neil followed the gesture down a familiar line of cars he’d seen at his arrival last May stopping when his eyes caught on a break in the row of black. One bright red vehicle identical to the others in all ways but the color stood out vividly.

“ _Merde_ ,” Jean mumbled. 

Neil could only stare dumbly, startled when a packet hit his chest.

“Your keys, licenses, and vehicle registrations,” Tetsuji called out while walking away. “I don’t expect you’ll get to drive them much, but they’re yours.”

 _A car, a real chance at escape if it came down to it._ Neil shook his head in astonishment, his second thought brought a smirk to his face. _Holy shit Andrew is going to be so jealous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than the last one but better than nothing right? Heads up if you've been with me since the prologue I did a major proofread and edit over the last ten days (hence the delay in posting a new chapter). So if you go back and reread and notice it isn't exactly the same that's why. No major plot changes. As always, I'd love to hear from you. Drop a comment below and say hi! Kudos=love. Up Next: Kevin's reaction to the instagram accounts and Kathy Ferdinand.


	10. Laying the Foundation

Andrew flinched awake as Kevin’s heavy hand touched his shoulder; he came up swinging. A satisfying yelp let him know he hit his target.

“Told you not to touch him,” his twin’s voice came from somewhere below.

Though Andrew wasn’t fond of having to climb the ladder each night to crawl into bed, the upper bunk was easier to defend. He leaned up on his left elbow and raised an eyebrow in silent question. What he got was a phone thrown in his lap by the striker who was now standing a safe distance away holding his nose protectively. The blonde looked down.

Staring up at him was a photo of a very familiar redhead next to what could only be described as a beast of a vehicle. Andrew nearly drooled, but was still unsure what about it set off his fragile roommate.

“What?”

“Look at the account name,” Kevin said.

_EARavens_Josten4_

“So?” Andrew asked.

Kevin threw his hands in the air dramatically, “So? So? The Ravens have only one social media account for the entire team and its posts are hand picked by the PR team.”

Andrew was beginning to see the problem, though he doubted Kevin understood the subtlety of the move his little birdie had made. After all, it is much harder to kill a target that’s in the public eye. The ex-Raven in front of him is partially alive for that same reason.

“Still don’t think it’s deserving of that level of reaction Kev, ” Andrew said apathetically.

The striker’s green eyes flashed with indignation as he buffered picking his next words. “Why don’t you get it?”

“What’s there to get? It’s a photo and with a frankly appalling caption,” Andrew stated. The post had read ‘ _Diablo Rouge et son Démon de compagnie’_ with an exorbitant amount of emojis and hashtags. There were already over ten thousand likes and it had only been up for less than an hour. The comment section was filled with a myriad of topics concerning the sudden and unexpected post.

Neil himself looked a little off in Andrew’s opinion, but it wasn’t until he zoomed in he realized why. The redhead was situated facing away from the camera next to the driver’s side door with his face half in shadow, left-hand resting on the mirror. His one visible blue eye all but glowed in the dim morning light, but it was his left cheek and neck which held his attention, a soft photoshop effect had been added. To most it would be invisible, but to Andrew it shone like a neon sign. Without a word he crawled down out of the bunk bed.

“Where are you going?” His brother asked clearly annoyed at being pulled into Kevin’s shit.

Andrew ignored him and continued through the kitchen area out to the halls of the dorm uncaring he was barefoot. Kevin’s shout cutoff behind him as the door slammed shut. He walked the short distance to the girls’ dorm room and knocked, a bleary eyed Dan answered.

“I need to speak with Allison, go get her," Andrew ordered without preamble.

Dan blinked slowly.

“Today Wilds,” Andrew growled.

“What the fuck monster, you have any idea what time it is?” A disheveled Allison appeared behind Dan’s muscular body.

Andrew shoved the phone under her face. “Can you tell me if this has been edited?”

Allison grabbed at the cell clumsily and pulled it toward her for a better angle. “What like with a filter or something?”

“No,” Andrew clarified. “I was thinking more like photoshop or a face tuning app, specifically the cheek and neck area.”

“I can’t believe you woke us up for this,” Dan grumbled, crossing her arms. They’d garnered a small crowd as Andrew’s crew stumbled out to join them in the hall.

“Hmmm” Allison murmured. “Yes, I’d say a couple of minor touch ups, perhaps a blemish patch and maybe a slight smoothing effect, why? Hey wait isn’t this that Arizona kid we tried and failed to recrui—”

Andrew cut her off by retrieving the phone and walking away without a word. He heard the life sized Barbie snarl something nasty before Dan shushed her, ushering her back inside. Nicky and the boys cleared a path giving him a wide berth back into their apartment style dorm. Andrew made a beeline for his desk perch near the window that allowed him to smoke indoors and lit up a cigarette.

“Can I have my phone back now please?”

Andrew growled, “You know I hate that word.”

“Sorry,” Kevin said meekly.

“What was that about?” Nicky screeched, always one for excitement, and the most outspoken of his family members. “Oooh he’s hot.”

“You first Kevin, care to explain your visceral reaction?” Andrew asked leaving his cousin’s question unanswered.

“I-I’m, it doesn’t—,” Kevin stuttered. “It’s just I’m trying to comprehend how Nath-Neil is able to do all this. He should be property just like Jean…”

Andrew felt a trickle of annoyance as Kevin trailed off mumbling to himself, an incomprehensible monologue of rhetorical questions and suppositions.

“It’s almost as if—”

“Almost as if what?” Andrew prodded.

Kevin looked up eyes wide, “Almost as if he’s got some sort of leverage, but the only way that’s possible is if he’s backed by the main branch. Kengo would never get involved over a dispute in his brother’s territory unless it directly affected him so it makes no sense.”

“So you’re what? Jealous?” Aaron scoffed. “Resentful some little shit had more balls than you to do what you couldn’t?”

Andrew slid a knife pointedly out of his sleeve, “Enough Aaron. Nicky go grab my phone off the charger.”

“Awww why me?” Nicky complained, but scurried to obey after the glint of his knife caught the light.

Andrew kept an eye on his brother as he flopped into the nearest beanbag and signaled Kevin to come collect his phone. A short minute later Nicky returned with his phone in hand.

Andrew wasted no time in pulling up the generic PSU twitter account they all had access to and checked the trending items. Unsurprising Edgar Allan was ranked in the top three. He clicked the hyperlink to see the feed and noticed a trend of @ signs calling out several players by their handles. It appears Neil wasn’t the only one to gain this so called freedom.

“Why would the Ravens suddenly allow a select few players to start building a social media presence?” Andrew asked and held out the phone for Kevin to see.

“Malakai Ahmad has been on the Raven’s radar of years” the striker explained. “He’s an offensive dealer with a lot of firepower. I always thought he had the potential to make Court one day if he learned to play with a bit more finesse.”

“And the other freshman?”

“Reyna Fuentes, backliner,” Kevin responded. “I actually flagged her game film myself. She has a very similar playing style to Thea, pure aggression.”

“Another contender for Court in the near future?”

Kevin nodded, “Without a doubt.”

 _Clever birdie,_ Andrew thought. _He’s building his own little ‘Perfect Court’ and right under their very roof._

“Don’t overthink it Kevin, it is likely a new marketing strategy. I doubt it has anything to do with you,” Andrew reassured.

“But—”

Andrew grabbed Kevin’s injured hand in a bruising grip and took a drag of his cigarette blowing the smoke into the striker’s face causing him to cough. “Not everything is about you golden boy. You trusted me with your safety, is that no longer true?”

“No.”

“No?”

Kevin flinched, “No, I meant yes I trust you. I just never expected Nathaniel to be alive and I’m confused how he’s managed to accomplish all this.”

 _Me too Kev, me too,_ Andrew thought releasing the boy and waving a hand in dismissal to indicate Kevin could go nurse his wounds physical and mental.

**-POV Shift-**

"So when were you going to tell me you put together an overhaul Edgar Allan document?" Jean asked as he gently dabbed the makeup on Neil’s still healing bruises trying to rein in his anger.

Neil shrugged. "I never intended to share it. When I was in Millport I took AP Statistics and the final project was based around the application of statistics in the real world. It just so happened at the time I was spending an inordinate amount of effort studying the Ravens."

"You seriously need to get some other hobbies," Jean teased. He was about to ask another question when a knock sounded on their door. It’s been several nights since the new addition had been installed by the contractors and it still came as a surprise every time someone had to now request permission to enter.

The Frenchman stood slowly from his place between Neil’s legs and went to answer the door, curious who would stop by at this hour of the morning. It was Friday and the day of their first game of the season. Very few Ravens had classes on Fridays due to the clout the Exy program had with the school. Most players’ schedules were similar where lectures fell on Tuesdays through Thursdays to allow for easier travel on away game weekends.

The taller boy hid a smile as he saw Neil fussing with his foundation already rubbing at the irritating fluid now stuck to his skin. Jean checked the peephole and slid back the deadbolt.

“Hey,” Jean greeted an obviously nervous Fuentes and Ahmad. “What’s up?”

“Can we come in?” Fuentes asked.

Jean glanced back at Neil who nodded with a knowing smirk, so he stepped back and shooed them inside locking the door behind them. Neil’s eyes were practically twinkling with undisguised mirth. _This screamed diabolical plan and had the redhead written all over it,_ Jean thought.

Maneuvering around the two awkward freshmen Jean rejoined his parter on their bed throwing an arm over his shoulder waiting to take his cues from Neil.

“Would you like to sit down?” the redhead asked kindly.

The two players looked at each other and came to a decision. Fuentes grabbed a desk chair, pulling it closer and Ahmad took a seat on the other bed across from them; the one they never slept in.

Jean studied the two players having never really interacted with them before. Malakai Ahmad was slightly shorter than himself, with olive skin, dark eyes, and light brown hair. Jean tried to remember what his profile said. His mom was Egyptian and his dad was Middle Eastern. They’d moved here when he was just a baby and settled in Austin, Texas where he supposedly had family. He was a heck of a dealer and would no doubt one day work his way into the single digits for jersey numbers.

Reyna Fuentes, was from an objective perspective gorgeous. She had beautifully tan skin and an even complexion inherited from her mother’s Filipino heritage and soft honey eyes that at one time probably held warmth. Now they were ablaze with indignation as she zoned in on the striations still lingering across Neil’s neck. Jean noticed her fingers twitched as if to reach out and touch. Neil tensed so he began rubbing soothing circles just below his ear.

It was amusing to watch Ahmad blush upon noticing the movement. There was a ton of speculation in the Nest as to what Jean and Neil were to each other. Neither of them bothered to confirm or deny any of them.

“So…” Neil began. “How can we help you?”

“I hear we have you to thank for the new social media accounts,” Fuentes said, clearly the more straightforward of the two.

Neil raised an eyebrow and it took everything in Jean not to roll his eyes at the redhead’s antics. He always had a flair for the dramatic.

“What I’m trying to figure out is, why us?” she continued.

“You can’t guess?” Neil teased. Jean pinched his thigh lightly in warning. He still wasn’t sure how far he could trust them.

Unexpectedly it was Ahmad who spoke, “The master said you hand picked us for our ethnicity and talent.”

“That’s right,” Neil confirmed, though Jean knew it was more than that. Apparently by the shrewd look Reyna was giving them said she knew too.

“One question,” Fuentes started unable to tear her eyes away from the marks on Neil’s neck. “The social media push, Engle and Reacher’s injuries, and Riko’s sudden wariness of you…”

Neil gave her what Jean liked to call ‘the butcher’s smile’ all teeth and glacial eyes.

“I’m waiting for a question,” Neil drawled.

“Fuck it, was that you?” She stammered out causing Ahmad’s mouth to drop open in astonishment.

The redheads grin grew impossibly bigger, “Yes.”

Both of the teens let out a breath Jean had a suspicion neither were conscious of holding.

“I’d like to start over,” Reyna said. “I think I owe you both an apology and payment for a debt I cannot even begin to pay.”

Neil laughed and Jean felt some of the tension drain from his friend’s shoulders. “I don’t believe in regret Fuentes, and you don’t owe us anything…yet.”

Ahmad finally seemed to understand and chimed in, “You have a plan.”

The redhead nodded, “I have a plan.”

The two freshman stayed for another twenty minutes or so before they took their leave. Malakai gave Neil’s hand a firm shake and Reyna attempted to hug Neil only to be thwarted by Jean. The redhead chuckled in amusement and said something to the girl that appeased her.

“Was that Tagalog?” Jean asked. “Please don’t tell me you speak yet another language.”

“No you buffoon, but I do know a couple conversational phrases.”

“You mean insults,” Jean whined. “What did you call me?”

Neil’s chuckle turned into full blown laughter and he reached for the makeup kit to resume their earlier work. “Nothing that needs to be repeated.”

“Spoilsport,” Jean stated, pouting for added effect. It was his turn to laugh when he heard Neil mutter a prayer to save him from the delicate constitutions of the French.

They settled into a comfortable silence as Jean finished hiding the evidence of last weekend’s confrontation, Neil hummed an unfamiliar song as they worked. Jean found the disparity between the softness of the moment and the violence of the marks jarring. What vexed him the most was the redhead’s indifference to it all.

“There, all done pretty boy,” Jean declared not expecting the alarming reaction it would cause.

Neil went eerily still and his eyes blanked out, “Don’t call me that.”

It was unmistakeable to what he was referring… _pretty boy,_ Jean thought.

“Okay,” the Frenchman readily agreed. Unsure how to wipe that look off his friend’s face, he stayed frozen waiting for the redhead to make the first move. It made him want to throw things and hunt down every last person who had a hand in putting that look on Neil’s face. It was wrong, it didn’t belong there, but the world was cruel in that way.

“You nervous for tonight?” Jean asked choosing to change the subject.

Neil seemed to contemplate the question. “Not the game itself but what comes after.”

“Your father?”

“If his people haven’t figured it out already then they aren’t worth my time,” Neil began. “I am concerned over my subsequent splash into the public eye with that viper of a women, Kathy Ferdinand.”

Jean cocked his head, “How so?”

“Leaving you behind makes me anxious,” Neil admitted unabashedly.

“I’ve survived this long without you. What’s one more night?” Jean attempted to reassure.

Neil gave a decidedly pointed look.

“You are plotting something, spit it out,” Jean commanded.

“I’m always plotting,” Neil conceded with a lopsided grin.

“Naturally,” Jean commented.

“What I fear is the repercussions of my actions would befall you and I’m not one to push the consequences of my actions onto others, least of all you.” Neil stated, soberly.

“I can handle it,” Jean said stubbornly.

“It is not your fortitude I doubt but my ability to reconcile that I played some part in your suffering.”

Jean ruffled Neil’s hair and closed the concealer pot before responding. “Like I’ve been doing for the past six weeks? I appreciate your concern Neil, I really do, but I know better by now that the payoff would be worth it. Plus your newest acolytes will be here to keep an eye on things."

The redhead sighed, “But is it?”

“What?”

“Worth it?”

“Does it matter?” Jean asked. “Whether the result is desirable at the very least it is better than the alternative of rolling over and letting him win. What you’ve accomplished already is more than I could have ever imagined. You’ve allowed me to hope again.”

“You make a good point,” Neil said wryly.

“Of course I do, I’m French,” Jean teased.

“Don’t push it,” the redhead warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I could list all the very valid excuses for the large gap in chapter postings, but ya'll probably don't want to hear it lol. Regardless I apologize for the LOOOOONNNNNGGGGG delay. As always comments and kudos are life. Until next time my friends.
> 
> Diablo Rouge et son Démon de compagnie=Red Devil and his Demon Companion


	11. Sins of the Father

Neil yelped as he felt a vibration against his hip.

“What’s with him?” Fuentes asked, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.

“He’s allergic to technology.” Jean snickered.

“Am not! It just surprised me is all.” Neil rolled his eyes. “Remind me again why I tolerate you?”

“Whatever pip-squeak,” Jean teased wrapping an arm around the redhead. “You know you love me.”

Ignoring the insult Neil reached into his front pocket and pulled out the cause of the disturbance. He couldn’t resist a small smile as he saw who the message was from.

“Ahhh your psychotic pet blonde is fishing for attention, do you not feed him well enough?” Jean goaded.

Neil spun dislodging his friend’s arm.

“What blonde?” Ahmad asked, turning his head from where he and Fuentes were walking a few paces in front of them.

“Above your pay grade,” Neil announced.

“Ooooh now I really want to know,” Fuentes chimed in.

Since their discussion earlier this morning Jean and Neil quickly transitioned from an old married couple to a family of four thanks to their agreement with Tetsuji. The teens were now a permanent installation in their daily routine both on and off the court.

Jean decided to take pity on Neil and made a show of corralling the two freshmen toward the campus cafe. “Leave the poor lad be, let’s be naughty and use some of this new found freedom to load up on contraband sugar and caffeine.”

“But it’s game day—“

The rest of the protest was cut off as the door closed behind them. Neil forced his shoulders to relax and looked for a place in the shade to sit while he waited for the trio to return. He settled on a wrought iron bench donated by an organization dedicated to historic building preservation.

Safely ensconced away from the glaring sun he swiped open the message; his elation quickly turned sour.

**_‘You owe me an explanation.’_ **

Neil already regretted sharing his new number with Andrew. He slid further down the bench and tilted his head back to stare at the branches overhead. Though it was only September the latest cold spell had encouraged the leaves to begin changing color.

 _Am I ready to talk about it?_ Neil asked himself. The answer was unequivocally, no.

It was a complicated feeling and one he wasn’t ready to confront, not now anyway. Neil knew he owed Andrew after the frantic call in the middle of the night but it was still too raw, too close to the surface. Neil was aware no matter when this conversation took place it was going to be painstakingly long and exhausting. It wasn’t something that could be rushed and if he was being honest a large part of him was nervous the outcome would be Andrew’s perfect understanding. An understanding gained the hard way, first hand experience.

Now that Andrew admitted the armbands hid more than just knives it wasn’t too far a reach to infer something from his time in juvie or foster care was the trigger. Neil realized the blonde didn’t cut because he was suicidal, unlike Jean. The redhead suspected Andrew cut as a way to gain some semblance of control over anything, even pain, no especially pain. It was an unfamiliar concept to Neil, who spent his whole life just trying to survive but from what he knew of the blonde whatever the reason the benefit must’ve outweighed the cost.

However, what frightened Neil the most was not the dark secrets lurking behind Andrew’s every action, but that he wanted to know them all with the same desperation he swung his racquet. The redhead felt a visceral need to decipher what it was about this particular boy which disarmed him in a way no other human being had.

It was rapidly becoming a dangerous obsession and one he couldn’t afford. He was already walking a fine line with Ichirou to protect Jean and he had very little left to bargain with. There was a reason he stashed away the keys Coach Hernandez gifted him. If Riko or the master grasped what they meant to him they could be used as weapons, not unlike their plans to use Jean as a hostage during the Kathy Ferdinand show.

Andrew is dangerous and not in the way most people thought. Neil let out a sigh and felt the phone vibrate in his hand.

**_‘I know you're there junkie. You have read receipts on.’_ **

The redhead wrinkled his brow in confusion but was saved from responding thanks to Jean and the kids’ triumphant return. More time must’ve passed than he realized while he was lost in thought.

“What’s with the face?”

“Huh?” Neil grunted. “Oh, do you know what ‘read receipts’ are?”

“Oh my gosh you poor creature,” Fuentes wailed. “Jean was right you are allergic to technology.”

Ahmad sat down in the open space next to him on the bench. Neil tried to camouflage his slight shifting in an attempt to put some space between them. Jean still caught his eye with a knowing look. Neil shrugged as if daring him to say something though they both knew he wouldn’t yet the glint of understanding in those gray eyes made him want to punch something, preferably Riko’s face.

“Here hand me your phone,” Ahmad offered kindly.

Neil saw no reason to refuse and slid his cell into the other boy’s grip. He watched curiously as the teen expertly navigated to settings.

“It’s an option to let other people know when you’ve seen their message,” he explained. “I don’t have an iPhone but my sister does and she keeps it on to drive my mom crazy by leaving it in ‘read’ status for hours before texting back; the little she-devil.”

“Ooooh Neil I didn’t know you had family my little _diablo rouge_ ,” Jean joked.

“Shove off,” Neil grumbled. “Where’s my drink?”

Reyna handed over a neon pink concoction which disturbingly resembled something that might be used as a foaming hand soap or drain cleaner.

“Here, we thought it would clash nicely with your hair.”

Neil took a hesitant sip and spat it right back out. It tasted faintly of raspberries, but was so sweet it coated his whole mouth with a film of artificial sweetener. He looked up into the camera of Fuentes’s cell; she had recorded the whole thing.

“This is pure gold,” she squealed, dancing away.

“I hate everyone,” Neil grumbled.

“Cheer up mate, it’s the first game of the season and you’re on the starting lineup as a freshman. That’s so freaking cool,” Ahmad gushed as he rose from his seat.

Neil brushed off the compliment and thanked him for fixing his text settings. Neil stared up at Jean toying with the idea of dumping the toxic drink over his friend’s head. Some of his irritation must’ve leaked through though for the bench got impossibly smaller as his giant partner sat down in the space Ahmad just vacated. He hovered a large palm over Neil’s knee waiting for permission before patting his thigh comfortingly.

“What’d midget want?” Jean asked, handing him what looked to be his real drink.

“Something I’m not ready to give,” Neil admitted, removing the lid off the cup to take a whiff of the contents unwilling to be fooled twice.

“It’s Earl Grey with a tiny bit of dairy free creamer, relax,” Jean reassured while rubbing small circles on the inside of Neil’s knee. “It’s ok to tell him no, ya know?”

“We have a deal.”

Jean shrugged. “Nothing says you have to spill your guts the second he asks. Let him stew a little bit. I heard it’s character building.”

Neil contemplated the pros and cons of delaying. Andrew was a jagged human being all sharp edges and barely concealed traps waiting to be sprung. He was exactly the type of person his Mother would’ve warned him against: too smart, too volatile, just too much of everything.

Neil shook his head. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m sorry could you repeat that?”

The redhead gave Jean a blank look.

“Message received,” the tall backliner conceded. “So…game tonight and then off to Kathy Ferdinand. You ready?”

**—POV Shift—**

Andrew tuned out the pre-game talk in favor of staring down at his phone, the conversation with Neil open once again. It had been hours since his initial text and still there was no response. The blonde didn’t know what to make of it. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter; the redhead was nothing to him, and yet something was simmering just below the surface. _Annoyance? Frustration? Anger?_ It was hard to distinguish one from the other with the artificial buoyancy coloring them all an unrecognizable shade.

“Earth to Minyard.”

Andrew purposely took an extra moment to blank his phone screen and look up.

“Care to join the rest of us or would you prefer to share whatever it is has you so engrossed?” Coach Wymack asked.

Andrew decided ignoring him was the most expedient way to move the meeting along. His response, or lack there of, caused Wymack to throw his hands in the air dramatically before gesturing back to the board containing the lineups for the game tonight. They were slated to play their longtime rivals Breckenridge who, until Edgar Allan transferred, was the largest and first-ranked school in the district.

Campus police were out in full force earlier today helping direct traffic and making sure guests didn’t interrupt classes. The whole school was decked out with vibrant orange and white streamers. Ribbons and banners hung off every sidewalk lamp. Live student bands took over the amphitheater for short concerts and the student newspaper announced the details for a pep rally parade. Cheerleaders roamed the campus in small packs, flaunting their short skirts and commercial white smiles doing their best to rev up school spirit wherever they could. All in all Andrew thought it was pointless, but his cousin and for some reason his brother found it entertaining.

Andrew’s attention snapped back into place as he heard Kevin’s name mentioned.

“If the press slips past after the game today and wants answers you tell them we’re not saying anything until Kathy’s show tomorrow,” Wymack advised.

“Kathy?” Dan asked.

“Kathy Ferdinand.” Wymack took one look at their confused faces and scowled at Kevin. “Didn’t you tell them?”

“There wasn’t a need to,” Kevin said.

Andrew whipped his head to stare at the striker. He thought he’d made it abundantly clear secrets weren’t to be kept. He was pleased to see the other boy fidget under his attention.

“Like morning show host Kathy Ferdinand?” Matt asked.

“That’s the one,” Wymack said. “We have to do some publicity at some point. It was part of our agreement with Chuck and the ERC. Kevin chose Kathy because she agreed to wait until after our first game. Tomorrow morning we’re heading up to Raleigh to give her an exclusive first interview.”

“She must’ve fainted when you said yes,” Matt said. “When’s the last time you made an official public appearance?”

“December fourth,” Kevin answered.

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Dan asked. “I’ll set an alarm and wake up early to watch it.”

“Or you could come to the studio with us,” Wymack said, ignoring the look Kevin sent him. “Kathy invited the entire team to the broadcast. If we show, we get front row seats. We’ve got to take the bus up anyway, so there’s plenty of room.”

“Do you want us to sit out?” Renee asked Kevin.

“It doesn’t really matter.”

Nicky grinned and reached over Andrew to pat Kevin’s shoulder. “He just knows he has to play nice for her show. He doesn’t want you to see his civilized side. Can you imagine how his fans would react if they saw the real Kevin Day?”

“Do you even remember how to smile?” Matt asked. Kevin glared at him, but Matt only laughed. “Well, that alone is worth going for. I’m in.”

“I’ll buy us doughnuts for the ride,” Dan offered.

Argument settled, it appeared the Foxes were taking a road trip to witness Kevin Day’s carefully crafted TV persona live and in person. Andrew cracked his knuckles annoyed how he now had less than half a day to work out the logistics of protecting the idiot striker in unfamiliar territory. There would be words later his eyes promised as he finally turned away from Kevin.

“Ok then, questions, comments, concerns? No? Then get out there and make me proud!” Wymack shouted.

Just as Andrew stepped onto the court he overheard Matt saying something to Seth.

“Shit looks like Gorilla is back.”

“Fuck.” Seth cursed.

“At least they’re taking us seriously from the start,” Aaron said.

“Easy for defense to say.” Allison chimed in.

“Gorilla?” Dallas inquired.

“Number 16, Hawking,” Nicky clarified. “AKA Gorilla. Six and a half feet tall and three hundred pounds of pure douchebaggery. You can’t miss him, trust me. He looks like a football player that got lost on his way to the field.”

“He’s also dumb as a brick, so he sat out of championships last year on academic probation,” Matt said. “It’s kind of a yearly ritual for him.”

“He’s defense,” Dan said, looking at Dallas, “and he loves body-checks. Don’t get between him and the wall. He’ll break every bone in your body if you give him the chance.”

“Don’t worry though,” Matt said. “He’ll probably be too busy killing Kevin and Seth to notice you.”

Andrew thought the new kid might make headlines by being the first ever to puke in the middle of the court before a game started; he hoped he did. It was almost comical how small and pathetic the Foxes looked on their half when compared to the overwhelming tan-and-black army of the Jackals. Andrew expended the minimum amount of effort as the warm-up dragged on doing his best to hide the shakes caused by the medication withdrawal.

Before he knew it the referees had locked the doors and the buzzer sounded indicating the start of first period. Andrew gave zero fucks about the result of the game and merely went through the motions of defending the goal until it became clear the Jackals were targeting Kevin’s injured hand. He almost interfered but then he noticed Matt toss his racquet aside and take a powerful swing at Gorilla. Hawking went down hard and the buzzer called a foul. Matt had already sought refuge behind him. It must’ve made for an amusing picture.

Andrew in thanks for preventing the need for his own involvement took a step into Gorilla’s path. He knew he looked ridiculously small as the other boy advanced on him, but he stood his ground and waited with his racquet at his side. The neanderthal jerked a beefy hand at him in a demand to move, but Andrew stayed silent and still. The crowd collectively held its breath. Luckily the referees got there before things could escalate.

In large part due to the inordinate amount of fights Andrew found his time on the court shortened to only partway through second period as his brief sobriety transitioned to full blown sickness. He signaled for Wymack to pull him.

Time crawled as he curled up in the relative safety of Abby’s office with a bottle of whiskey for company. The alcohol helped stave off the worst of the withdrawal symptoms, but it still wasn’t peaches and cream. Andrew found his thoughts bouncing around in his head like a game of ping pong while a gauzy curtain slowly descended muffling them. It was irritating though how one thought kept resurfacing.There was something off about Neil’s silence and when combined with the edited photo it became even more suspicious, it was like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. One thing was for certain though, next time he got ahold of the troublesome redhead he had a few choice words to impart.

**_—POV Shift—_ ** ****

“Quite the spectacle…”

“Indeed,” Ichirou agreed pivoting to acknowledge the speaker. He had to tear his eyes away from the game below. It was the season opener for the Ravens and while the opponent was at most average in skill the game was brutal in its savagery. The scoreboard indicated they were already into the double digits for penalties and third period had only just begun.

“My son is doing well despite his size limitation,” the man commented.

The young lord raked an assessing look over the man while reconciling everything he knew to be true. This was ‘The Butcher of Baltimore’ and Nathaniel’s father. The resemblance was unmistakable and yet, now they he’s met Nathaniel Ichirou felt they were fundamentally different. It was like looking at a replica of a classic masterpiece; you knew what you were supposed to see, but it didn’t quite hold the majesty of the original artwork. Nathan was a cheap imitation, a smudged charcoal drawing next to his son’s broad strokes of vibrant paint.

“Yes, he is more than capable it seems,” Ichirou said diplomatically.

Blue eyes, eerily similar to Nathaniel’s, were narrowed as the older man puzzled through his response unsure if there was a double entendre hidden behind the neutral comment.

Ichirou raised the glass of bourbon to his lips with exaggerated slowness. The Butcher was not known for his people skills, at least not in the boardroom. However, his reputation as quick to anger and even quicker to strike made him an ideal fierce enforcer but also limited his usefulness to The Family. Though in hindsight it might also be the reason he was still breathing. After all, if he can be manipulated to do their bidding without comprehending their true motives it makes him less of a risk should he run afoul of law enforcement.

“Nathan, I see you’ve found my child for me.”

“And you mine, my lord,” Nathan acknowledged.

“From what Ichirou has told me it was rather the other way round,” Kengo satirized. “You know he greatly admires your work.”

“Is that so?” The Butcher asked.

Ichirou situated himself a half step behind his father in deference to their relative positions before replying. “Yes, I grew up on tales of your work. I have long appreciated your…flamboyancy and I think it is safe to say the efficacy of your tactics speak for themselves. It is out of respect for you that I even indulged your son’s request to meet with me last spring. He is a credit to your teachings.”

“Yes, I can see he’s done remarkably well for himself,” Nathan commented.

The young lord sensed The Butcher was not pleased at all with this turn of events. It was one of the reasons he had his father request the man’s presence tonight. Ichirou did not lie; he once held Nathan Wesninski in high esteem. However, upon meeting his son and witnessing first hand the scars which were stretched tight with age he caught a glimpse of the monster concealed behind the facade of loyal attack dog. A man who raises a hand to a child for no other purpose than to hurt and maim is not a man you want watching your back. He is just as likely to turn and bite the hand that feeds him.

“About that,” Kengo began, “some concerns have been raised over how you plan to proceed now that you’ve found your long lost boy. It is widely known how much time and money you’ve invested over the years in an effort to reclaim your wife and child. I am sorry only one has made it back to you alive.”

Ichirou watched as Nathan’s eyes flashed with barely concealed rage and based on the tension in the two bodyguards flanking his father he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Thank you, my lord. Mary is—was a dedicated mother and she will be missed.”

“Understandably so, motherhood can be trying for many women and often drives them to extremes,” Ichirou’s father remarked. Though it wasn’t publicized it was a well known fact within The Family that Kengo’s wife was put to death for failing to take appropriate contraceptive measures and bearing the lord two heirs. It was only thanks to his uncle’s quick intervention which prevented Riko from suffering the same fate.

“Of course, my lord.”

“Well then, I should think the outcome rather obvious by my ordering your attendance here tonight,” Kengo announced.

“My lord, I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Nathan said.

Ichirou watched with fascination as his father transformed from kindly older gentlemen to mafia boss in the blink of an eye.

“Nathan Wesninski,” Kengo said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. Ichirou had to strain to hear it even standing as close as he was. It was somehow all the more intimidating.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do not mistake my benevolence for weakness. I indulged you for years in your manhunt for the woman and child on your word they posed some threat to me and mine,” Kengo stated. “For nearly seven years did you hunt them wasting manpower and money that could’ve been put to better use serving other more lucrative endeavors. Your son has seen fit to ratify some of those wrongs by earning us a small fortune under my brother’s tutelage. You would do well to follow his example. Bring me solutions not more problems, is that clear?”

Nathan’s eyes were positively glacial as he visibly swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Even though Ichirou knew his father was a petite man he seemed impossibly large in that moment dwarfing everyone else in the room. “Furthermore when I invite your son up to the tower after tonight’s game you are to express to him, in no uncertain terms, you mean him no ill will. The mistakes of the mother shall not be forced upon the son. Do I have your word?”

Ichirou watched The Butcher’s mouth open and close several times; it was unclear whether he was actually speaking or not. Some unknown command must’ve been issued for the two bodyguards swiftly kicked out the back of Nathan’s knees dropping him to the floor.

Kengo approached lifting The Butcher’s chin with a perfectly manicured finger. “Your word, Butcher.”

The veins in Nathan’s neck were tight with strain.“You have it, my lord.”

“Very good,” Kengo said. “Now, who can tell me the score?”

With the ease of a snake shedding its skin his father slid back into his businessman persona moving away to chat with a few of the other guests milling about.

Ichirou chose to follow his father’s example ignoring the man at his feet and went in search of a fresh beverage to nurse for the remainder of the game. If he thought the first half was barbaric it held nothing compared to the final period. Ichirou was transfixed as his little redhead and his French partner gave as good as they got; the boys would no doubt be feeling those hits tomorrow. All too soon the final buzzer rang indicating an end to the match and Edgar Allan’s overwhelming victory of 14-5 nearly a ten point spread.

The young lord clocked where The Butcher was and instructed one of his men to make sure he stayed put while he went to wait for Nathaniel in the lobby of East Tower. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long. Ichirou catalogued the other boy as he approached.

He looked exhausted, but his eyes were bright with a high only a hard won victory could give. The turtleneck Nathaniel was dressed in gave him pause remembering what that high collar hid was a sobering splash of ice water down his back.

“Forgive me for being uncouth, but you look like shit,” Ichirou teased.

Nathaniel let out a quiet huff of laughter at the unexpected foul language. “I don’t much care for mirrors, but I imagine I look like someone who went ten rounds with a disgruntled rhinoceros or two.”

“I’d hate to see the rhinoceros,” Ichirou said startling another laugh out of the boy.

“Yes, definitely a situation where ‘you should see the other guy’ is most appropriate,” Neil quipped.

“You played well Nathaniel,” Ichirou praised and was pleased to find the boy’s cheeks flushed with pride.

“Thank you,” Neil said and leaned up on his tip toes to tack on in a whisper, “my lord.”

A foreign pool of satisfaction curled pleasantly in the pit of Ichirou’s stomach at hearing his father’s title used so casually in public. It felt forbidden and exhilarating.

“Come Nathanial I have something important to share with you and I have a feeling you will find it rather distasteful,” Ichirou said as he guided the shorter boy through the lobby. “Your father is here.”

Nathaniel’s breath hitched and his face became noticeably paler. Ichirou quickly ushered him into the elevator the moment the doors opened and then let it rise a few floors before hitting the emergency stop.

“Nathaniel, I can assure you he is not here to harm you. He is here at my behest.”

“Why?” Nathaniel choked out backing himself into the furthest corner of the elevator.

Ichirou found he couldn’t stand the stricken look on the smaller boy’s face and rushed to explain. “My father always disapproved of Nathan’s singular minded pursuit of you and your mother. At first he was concerned you may pose a risk to The Family purely for what you knew and as time progressed it morphed into a perceived insult over the money stolen and your continued evasion of capture.”

“But I saw your expression in the limo, you would have ordered my death as easily as you order a cocktail at the bar,” the redhead remarked.

Ichirou nodded. “Yes, I would have. In fact, I’d say I struggle more at the bar.”

Nathaniel’s blue eyes, always so expressive, were not judging him but they were swirling with a complicated mix of emotions for which Ichirou could only pick out a handful: anguish, understanding, and acceptance.

“Thank you for your honesty, though if anyone else were to have said that I’d have laughed in their face. It’s no wonder so many organized crime people use the insanity plea as their defense. You have to be fucking crazy to do what we do,” Neil deflected.

Ichirou recognized Nathaniel’s words for what they were, a hint to move on. “So, back to your original question. I explained to my father your value and that you were fearful your return to the public eye would bring the full force of your father’s wrath here, to Edgar Allan. My father saw the wisdom of nipping it in the bud, so to speak, in order to prevent any negative attention from the media or law enforcement. This is very much a business we wish to remain above reproach.”

Nathaniel was distractedly rubbing the same spot repeatedly on his shoulder while he appeared to be organizing his thoughts. When he looked up Ichirou was once again pinned with too expressive eyes.

“Truly, you think this has the potential to free me from him?”

“He has been ordered to make peace with the past,” Ichirou admitted.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“It is better than what I originally envisioned for our _happy_ reunion,” Nathaniel began, “at least this way when he attacks he’ll be in direct conflict with the main branch.”

“You said when, not if,” Ichirou pointed out.

“That was intentional,” Nathaniel confirmed.

“You do not trust our hold is strong enough?”

Nathaniel cocked his head. “It is not your strength I question, but that your investiture in this endeavor is but a pittance compared to my father’s desire for his pound of flesh, especially now that he only has one body from which to extract it.”

“You think he will risk defying The Family in order to exact his revenge?”

“I’m counting on it,” Nathaniel said, cryptically.

Ichirou nodded remembering the barely concealed rage he’d witnessed only an hour earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter a little early since I will be going on vacation for the next week so I wanted to gift ya'll with some content before I leave. Hope you enjoy and as always leave some kudos/comments to let me know what you think.


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